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BERT WILSON 
at Panama 


BY 

J. W. DUFFIELD 

Author of “Bert Wilson at the Wheel,” 
“ Wireless Operator,” “ Fadeaway 
Ball,” “Marathon Winner” 



NEW YORK 

SULLY AND KLEINTEICH 

1914 


COPYHIGHT, 1914, BY 
SULLY AND KLEINTEICH 


All rights reserved 


JAN 161914 


€'CI.A3C16i2 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Hold-up i 

II. The Pursuit 13 

III. A Gallant Comrade .... 24 

IV. The Captured Sentry ... 41 

V. A Fiendish Torture .... 51 

VI. The Execution of El Tigre . 61 

VII. Off for Panama 75 

VIII. The Great Canal .... 87 

IX. The Treacherous Bog . . . 104 

X. A Perilous Adventure . . . 122 

XL The Deserted City . . . . 138 

XII. Wah Lee’s Boss 155 

XIII. Marked for Destruction . . 167 

XIV. Snatched From the Sea . . . 179 

XV. Cutting the Wires .... 190 

XVI. The Foiling of the Plot . . 201 



ILLUSTRATIONS 


The great Atlantic fleet climbed over the ridges 
of the continent and dropped into the Pa- 
cific. (See page 203.) .... Frontispiece K" 


And the thong began to stretch. 


PAGE 

60 




A great foaming wall of water leaped out of the 
tunnel 


152 




They saw the sailor draw a pair of wire cutters 

from his belt and ply them on something ^ 

near the wall 194 


BERT WILSON 
AT PANAMA 


CHAPTER I 
The Hold-up 

^^TTANDSup! Quick!” 

Now, in wild countries, such a com- 
mand is never disobeyed, except by a fool or a 
would-be suicide. As Dick Trent was neither, 
his hands went up at once. And as he looked 
into the wicked muzzles of two bulldog revolvers, 
he inwardly cursed the carelessness that had led 
him so far afield, unarmed. 

For that he had been careless there was not 
the shadow of a doubt. All that morning, as 
his train wound its way through Central Mexico, 
there had been unmistakable evidence on every 
side of the disturbed state of the nation. From 
the car windows he had seen a fertile country 
turned into a desert. The railroad line itself 
had been fairly well guarded by strong detach- 
ments of Federal forces; but outside the direct 
zone of travel there were abundant witnesses of 
strife and desolation. Smoke was rising from 
the remains of burned villages, the fields were 
bare of cattle driven off by maaruding bands, 


4 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


certainty they thought and talked of little else 
than the great canal. 

“How shall we go? ” asked Tom, when they 
began to plan for the journey. 

“ Oh, by boat or train, I suppose,” said Dick 
flippantly. “ It’s a little too far to walk.” 

“ Yes, Socrates,” retorted Tom, “ I had imag- 
ined as much. But bring your soaring intellect 
down to earth and get busy with common things. 
Which shall it be?” 

“ I’d leave it to the toss of a coin,” was the 
answer. “ I don’t care either way.” 

“ I vote for the train,” broke in Bert. “ We’ve 
had a good deal of sea travel in our trip to the 
Olympic Games and that last voyage to China. 
Besides, I’d like to see Mexico and Central 
America. It’s the land of flowers and romance, 
of guitars and senoritas, of Cortes and the 
Aztecs ” 

“ Yes,” interrupted Dick grimly, “ and of 
bandits and beggars and greasers and guerillas. 
Perhaps you’ll see a good deal more of Mexico 
than you want. Still, I’m game, and if Tom ” 

“ Count me in,” said Tom promptly. “ A spice 
of danger will make it all the more exciting. If 
the Chinese pirates didn’t get us, I guess the 
Mexicans won’t.” 

So Mexico it was, and up to the time they 
stopped at the broken bridge no personal danger 


THE HOLD-UP 


5 


had threatened, although it was evident that the 
country was a seething volcano. How near they 
were to that volcano’s rim they little dreamed as 
they sauntered lazily down to the bridge and 
watched the men at work. 

The damage proved greater than at first 
thought, and it was evident that some time must 
elapse before it could be thoroughly repaired. 
Bert and Tom climbed down the ravine a little 
way to get a better view of the trestle. Dick 
chatted a while with the engineer as he stood, oil 
can in hand, near the tender. Then the impulse 
seized him to walk a little way up the road that 
ran beside the track and get some of the kinks 
out of his six feet of bone and muscle. 

It was a perfect day. The sun shone hotly, 
but there was a cooling breeze that tempered the 
heat and made it bearable. Great trees beside 
the road afforded a grateful shade and beneath 
them Dick walked on. Everything was so differ- 
ent from what he had been accustomed to that at 
each moment he saw something new. Strange, 
gaily-plumaged birds fluttered in the branches 
overhead. Slender feathery palms rose a hun- 
dred feet in the air. Here a scorpion ran through 
the chapparal; there a tarantula scurried away be- 
neath the dusty leaves of a cactus plant. Up in 
the transparent blue a vulture soared, and made 
Dick think of the abundant feasts that were 


6 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


spread for these carrion birds all over Mexico. 
And just then as he rounded a curve in the road, 
his heart leaped into his throat and his hands 
went up in response to a quick, sharp word of 
command. 

“ Fool, fool,” he groaned to himself. Then 
he rose to the emergency. He took a grip on 
himself. And his cool gray eyes gave no sign of 
his inward tumult as he looked steadily at his 
captor and returned gaze for gaze. And as he 
gazed, the conviction grew that his life was not 
worth a moment’s purchase. 

Before him, surrounded by his followers, stood 
a man of medium height, but evidently possessed 
of great muscular strength. He wore a nonde- 
script costume of buckskin, studded with silver 
buttons and surmounted by a serape that had once 
been red, but now was sadly faded by wind and 
weather. A murderous machete was thrust into 
a flaunting sash that served as a belt and a black 
sombrero overshadowed his face. 

That face I Dick had never seen one so hide- 
ous except in nightmare. A sword cut had 
slashed the right cheek from the temple to the 
chin. The mouth from which several teeth were 
missing was like a gash. His eyes, narrowed be- 
neath drooping lids, were glinting with ferocity. 
They were the eyes of a demon and the soul that 
looked through them was scarred and seamed by 


THE HOLD-UP 


7 


every evil passion. So the old pirates might have 
looked as they forced their victims to walk the 
plank. So an Apache Indian might have gloated 
over a captive at the stake. Dick’s soul turned 
sick within him, but outwardly he was as cold as 
ice and hard as steel, as he stared unflinchingly 
into the cruel eyes before him. 

Perhaps that level gaze saved his life. The 
bandit’s hand was trembling on the trigger. One 
dead man more or less made no difference to him 
and he could rob as easily after shooting as be- 
fore. Something told Dick that, had he weak- 
ened for a moment, a bullet would have found 
lodgment in his heart. He braced himself for 
the strange duel and as he looked, he saw the 
savage eyes change into a half-resentful admira- 
tion. It had been a case of touch and go, but 
Dick, by sheer nerve had won a brief reprieve. 
Without lowering the revolvers, the bandit called 
to one of the scoundrels, of whom twenty stood 
near by with carbines ready: 

“ Search him, Pedro,” he commanded. 

The fellow come forward quickly. Every 
movement showed the awe and fear in which the 
chiief was held. He went through every pocket 
with a skill born of long experience. Dick’s 
watch and money were taken from him, and, at 
a sign from the leader, his coat and shoes were 
also added to the loot. 


8 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


“ Now tie him and put him on one of the 
horses,” said the captain, “ and we’ll be off. 
There may be some more of these accursed Ameri- 
canos near by.” 

In a twinkling a lariat was dragged from the 
saddlehorn of the broncho, and Dick’s arms were 
roughly tied behind his back. The rope cut 
cruelly into his flesh, but, with such an undaunted 
prisoner, they were determined to take no chances. 
Then he was lifted to the saddle and his feet 
tied beneath the horse. A bandit leaped up be- 
hind him and grasped the reins with one hand, 
while he held Dick with the other. Not till he 
was thus securely trussed and unable to move 
hand or foot, did the chief lower the revolvers 
with which he had kept the prisoner covered. 
A sharp command, a quick vaulting into the sad- 
dles, and the guerilla band was off to its eyrie 
in the mountains. 

Events had passed so rapidly that Dick’s brain 
was in a whirl. It seemed as though he were in 
a frightful dream from which he must presently 
awake. Scarcely ten minutes had wrought this 
fearful change in his fortunes. A quarter of an 
hour ago he was free, serene, apparently master 
of himself and his fate. Now he was a captive, 
stripped of money and goods, tied hand and foot, 
in the power of a desperate scoundrel, while every 
step was carrying him further away from happi- 
ness and friends and life. 


THE HOLD-UP 


9 


For he did not disguise to himself that death 
probably yawned for him at the journey’s end. 
Whatever the whim that had saved his life so far, 
it was unlikely to continue. He tried to figure 
out why the revolver had not barked when it had 
him so surely at its mercy. It was absurd to 
think that this human tiger had been deterred by 
any scruple. He was of the type that revelled 
in blood, who like a wild beast lusted for the 
kill. Perhaps he had not wanted to leave the 
evidence of his crime so close to the victim’s 
friends, whose fury might prompt to bloody re- 
venge. The noise of the shooting might have 
brought them like hornets about his ears. Or 
did some idea of ransom, if it could be managed, 
appeal to his avarice? Or, possibly, he might be 
held as a hostage to be exchanged for some pre- 
cious rascal now held by the enemy. In these 
last suppositions there were some glimmerings of 
hope and Dick drew from them such comfort 
as he might; but underneath them all was the 
grim probability that would not down that he 
was probably bound on his last journey. 

His tortured thoughts turned back to Bert and 
Tom. He could see them now in his mind’s eye, 
chatting and laughing on the edge of the ravine, 
while the men shored up the tottering trestle. 
Presently they would turn back and idly wonder 
what had become of Dick. A little longer and 
their wonder would change into a certain uneasi- 


lo BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

ness. Still they would not permit themselves to 
think for a moment that anything could have 
happened to him. They would guess that he 
might be in the smoker or the buffet and would 
saunter leisurely through the various cars. Only 
then when they failed to find him would they be- 
come seriously alarmed. And he could see the 
look of fierce determination and deadly resolu- 
tion that would leap to their eyes when they 
realized that he must have met with disaster. 

For they would come after him. He had no 
doubt of that. Some time, some way, they would 
come upon him, dead or alive, unless their own 
lives were lost in the effort. He knew that they 
would stick to the trail like bloodhounds and 
never falter for an instant. They had faced too 
many perils together to quail at this supreme 
test when his life was at stake. Dear old Bert! 
Good old Tom ! His heart warmed at the thought 
of them and a mist came over his eyes. 

But what chance did they have of finding him? 
They were in a strange land where even the lan- 
guage was unknown to them, and where the na- 
tives looked with suspicion on everything Ameri- 
can. The country through which they were pass- 
ing was of the wildest kind, and the hard sun- 
baked trail left little trace. The woods were 
thick and at times his captors had to use their 
machetes to cut a way through the dense under- 


THE HOLD-UP 


II 


growth. In places where streams were met, they 
walked their horses through the water to con- 
fuse the trail still further. They were evidently 
familiar with every foot of ground, and no doubt 
their camp had been located in some place where 
it would be practically impossible for pursuers to 
come upon them without abundant warning. The 
chances of success were so remote as to be well- 
nigh hopeless. There was no use in deluding him- 
self, and Dick pulled himself together and reso- 
lutely faced the probability of death. 

He did not want to die. Every fibre in him 
flamed out in fierce revolt against the thought. 
Why, he had scarcely begun to live. He stood at 
the very threshold of life. Some lines he had 
read only a few days before, curiously enough 
came back to him : 

“ ’TIs life, of which our nerves are scant, 

O life, not death, for which we pant, 

More life and fuller that we want.” 

Yes, that was it. He wanted life, wanted it 
eagerly, wanted it thirstily, wanted it desperately. 
Never before had it seemed so sweet. An hour 
earlier it had stretched before him, full of promise. 
The blood ran warm and riotous through every 
vein. He had everything to live for — health, 
strength, home and friends. And now the ending 
of all his dreams and hopes and plans was — 
what? 


12 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


A shadow fell across him. He looked up. 
It was the vulture, circling lower now, as though 
its instinct told it of a coming feast. Dick shud- 
dered. The air seemed suddenly to have grown 
deadly chill. 


CHAPTER II 


The Pursuit 

D own at the ravine, stretched out at full 
length beneath the shade of a great tree, 
Bert and Tom were watching the progress of the 
work, as it slowly neared completion. There 
was more to do than was at first thought, but 
after making allowance for this, it seemed to drag 
on endlessly. 

“ Not much genius in that crowd, I imagine,” 
said Bert. 

“What do you mean?” asked Tom, looking 
up in surprise. 

“ Why,” returned Bert, “ I forget what phil- 
osopher it was — Carlyle, I think — who says in 
one of his books that ‘ genius is only an infinite 
capacity for hard work.’ You don’t see much 
of it straying around loose here, do you? ” 
“Well no,” laughed Tom, “not so that you 
would notice it. I’ve just been looking at that 
fellow over there with a hammer. I’ll bet I 
could take a nap in the time it takes him to drive 
a nail.” 


13 


14 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

“ They ought to have as foreman one of those 
husky, bull-necked fellows I’ve seen in some of the 
section gangs laying out a railroad in the North- 
west,” went on Bert. “ Those fellows are ‘ steam 
engines in breeches.’ There isn’t much loafing 
or lying down on the job when they’re around. 
When they speak, the men jump as though they 
were shot.” 

“ Yes,” answered Tom, “ or perhaps a mate on 
a Mississippi steamboat would fill the bill. Those 
colored roustabouts certainly get a move on when 
they feel his gimlet eye boring through them.” 

“ After all, I suppose the climate is a good 
deal to blame,” mused Bert. “ It’s hard to show 
much ginger when you feel as though you were 
working in a Turkish bath.” 

“ Right you are,” responded Tom. “ We fel- 
lows born and bred in a cold climate don’t realize 
how lucky we are. It’s the fight with old mother 
nature that brings out all that’s strong and tough 
in a man. I guess if the old Pilgrim Fathers had 
landed at Vera Cruz intsead of on the ‘ stern 
and rock-bound coast’ of New England they’d 
have become lotus eaters too.” 

“Well, that’s what we’re getting ito be al- 
ready,” said Bert with a yawn, “ and if I lie here 
much longer I’ll strike my roots into the bank.” 

“ Sure enough,” assented Tom, “ here we are 
talking about the laziness of these fellows, but I 


THE PURSUIT 


15 

don’t see that we’re wearing any medals for 
energy.” 

“ Energy,” drawled Bert. “ Where have I 
heard that word before. It sounds familiar, but 
I wouldn’t recognize it if I saw it. I don’t be- 
lieve there is any such thing south of the RiQ 
Grande.” 

“ Come, wake up,” retorted Tom. “ Get out 
of your trance. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Do 
you see that tree up there? I’ll race you to it. 
That is, if you give me a handicap.” 

“ Done,” said Bert, who could never resist 
a challenge. “How much do you want?” 

“How about a hundred feet? That oughtn’t 
to be too much for a Marathon winner to give a 
dub like me.” 

“You don’t want much, do you?” laughed 
Bert. “ Your nerve hasn’t suffered from the 
heat. But get your lead and I’ll start from 
scratch.” 

Tom, quick as a cat, was not to be despised. 
On more than one occasion he had circled the 
bases in fifteen seconds. But he was no match 
for the fellow who at the Olympic games had won 
the Marathon race from the greatest runners of 
the world. For a little he seemed to hold his 
own, but when Bert once got into his stride — 
that space-devouring lope that fairly burned up 
the ground — it was “ all over but the shouting.” 


i6 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

He collared Tom fifty feet from the tree and can- 
tered in an easy winner. 

Tom had “ bellows to mend ” and was perspir- 
ing profusely, but to Bert it had simply been an 
“ exercise gallop ” and he had never turned a hair. 

“ Well, you got me all right,” admitted Tom 
disgustedly. “ I’ve got no license to run with 
you under any conditions. But at any rate the 
run has waked me up. I’ve lost some of my wind, 
but I’ve got back my self-respect. But now let’s 
go and hunt Dick up. I wonder where he is any- 
way.” 

“ Probably stretched out on a couple of seats 
and taking a snooze,” guessed Bert. “ I’ll bet 
he’s lazier even than we are, and that’s saying a 
good deal.” 

“ Well, let’s rout him out,” said Tom. “ Come 
along.” 

But when they reached their section of the car, 
Dick was nowhere to be seen. 

“ Taking a snack in the buffet, perhaps,” sug- 
gested Bert. “ There’s something uncanny about 
that appetite of his. I’d hate to have him as a 
steady boarder.” 

But here their search was equally unavailing. 
The attendant at the buffet did not remember hav- 
ing seen any one of his description lately. 

“Great Scott,” ejaculated Tom. “Where is 
the old rascal anyway? ” 


THE PURSUIT 


17 

Bert bent his brows in a puzzled frown. It 
certainly did seem a little queer. 

“ He must be close by somewhere,” he said 
slowly. “ He can’t have vanished into the thin 
air. Perhaps the porters or the train men have 
seen something of him.” 

With a growing sense of uneasiness they went 
from car to car, but the mystery remained un- 
solved until they reached the engineer. 

‘‘ Sure,” replied that worthy, “ I know who you 
mean. He was talking to me alongside the en- 
gine here.” 

“ How long ago? ” asked Bert, anxiously. 

“ O, it must be all of two hours,” was the reply. 
“ I remember it was just a little while after the 
train stopped. When he left me he started up 
that road,” pointing to the path beside the track. 
“ Said he was going to stretch his legs a little.” 

“Two hours. ago! ” exclaimed Bert. 

“And not back yet! ” cried Tom. 

The boys looked at each other and in their eyes 
a great fear was dawning. 

“ O, I guess he’s all right,” said the engineer, 
“ though he certainly was taking chances if he 
went very far. Things are rather risky around 
here just now, and it’s good dope not to get too 
far away from the train unless you’re pretty well 
‘heeled ’ and have got some friends along.” 

But his last words fell upon unheeding ears. 


i8 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

With a bound, Bert was back in the car, closely 
followed by Tom. They rummaged hastily in 
their bags until they found their Colt revolvers — 
the good old .45s that had done them such good 
service in their fight with the pirates off the Chin- 
ese coast. Not a word was spoken. There was 
no time for talk and each knew what was passing 
in the mind of the other. Dick was gone — dear 
old Dick — and at this very moment was perhaps 
in deadly peril. There were only two things to 
be done. If he were alive, they would find him. 
If he were dead, they would avenge him. 

That they were taking their own lives in their 
hands in the effort to aid their comrade did not 
even occur to them. It seemed the simplest 
thing in the world. It was not even a problem. 
Not for a moment did they weigh the cost. Were 
they hucksters to split hairs, to measure chances, 
when their comrade’s life hung in the balance? 
As for the risks — well, let them come. They had 
faced death before and won out. Perhaps they 
would again. If not — there were worse things 
than death. At least they could die like men. 

They thrust their weapons in their belt, threw 
a handful of cartridges in either pocket, leaped 
from the car and started on a run up the road. 

As they ran, they gathered speed. The road 
fell away like a white ribbon behind them. The 
wind whistled in their ears. The canter they had 


THE PURSUIT 


19 


already indulged in had put them in form and 
their anxiety gave wings to their feet. No time 
to spare themselves when every minute was preci- 
ous — fraught with the chances of life or death. 
More than once they had run for glory — now per- 
haps they were running for a life. And at the 
thought they quickened their pace until they were 
fairly flying. 

Their keen eyes scanned each side of the path 
for some sign of Dick’s presence, but not until 
they came to the turn in the road was their search 
rewarded. Then they stopped abruptly. 

Something had happened here. There were 
no signs of a struggle, but the ground was torn 
up as though by the pawing of horses. The up- 
turned earth was fresh at the edges and the prints 
of hoofs could be clearly seen. A bit of cloth 
fluttered on a tree and a broken strap lay on the 
ground. An ace of spades near by made it look 
as though a card game had been suddenly inter- 
rupted and this impression gathered force from 
the presence of an empty bottle that still smelled 
strongly of mescal, the villainous whisky of the 
Mexicans. 

Like hounds on the scent the boys circled round 
the spot, trying to get the meaning of the signs. 
Their experience in camping had made them the 
keenest kind of woodmen and they could read the 
forest like an open book. Bert’s sharp eyes 


20 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


caught sight of the bark of a sapling freshly- 
gnawed. By its height from the ground he knew 
at once that this had been made by the teeth of a 
broncho. The mark of a strap a little lower 
down showed that the beast had been tethered 
there. All around the clearing he went, until he 
had satisfied himself that at least twenty horses 
had been standing there a little while before. 

Tom in the meantime had been studying the 
hoofprints. One of them especially arrested his 
attention. He followed the trail some hundred 
feet and came running back to Bert. 

“ One of those horses has carried double,” he 
panted. “ See how much deeper and sharper his 
prints are than the others. And though he 
started off among the first he soon came back to 
the rear. The others with a lighter load got on 
faster.” 

Bert hastily confirmed this conclusion. There 
was no longer any room for doubt. They saw 
the whole scene now as clearly as though they 
had been on the spot when it happened. Dick 
had come unexpectedly and unarmed upon this 
band of guerillas. They had at least been twenty 
to one, and he had had not the ghost of a chance. 
They had carried him off into the mountains. 
For what purpose? God only knew. 

But at least they had spared his life. There 
was still a chance. While there was life there 


THE PURSUIT 


21 


was hope. And they would never leave the trail 
until that last spark of hope had gone out in 
utter darkness. 

Now that they had fully settled in their own 
minds just what had happened, the next thing in 
order was to plan the rescue. And this promised 
to be a tremendous task. The chances were all 
against them. They had no delusions on that 
score. The odds of twenty to two were enor- 
mous. Mere courage was not enough to settle 
the problem. With a heart of a lion they must 
have the cunning of a fox. 

The boys sat down on the grassy bank and 
cudgeled their brains. The fierce excitement of 
the last few minutes had gone down, to be re- 
placed by a steady flame of resolution. Bert’s 
mental processes were quick as lightning. He 
could not only do, but plan. It was this instant 
perception and clear insight, as well as his pluck 
and muscle, that had made him a natural leader 
and won him the unquestioned position he held 
among his friends and comrades. Like a flash 
he reviewed in his mind the various plans that 
occurred to him, dismissing this, amending that, 
until out of the turmoil of his thoughts he had 
reached a definite conclusion. 

He lifted his head from his hands and in short 
crisp sentences sketched out his purpose. 

“ Now, Tom,” he said, “ we’ve got to work 


22 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

harder and quicker than we ever did before. 
Here’s the game. Make tracks for the train. 
It must be pretty nearly ready to move now. Go 
through Dick’s bag and get his revolver. It may 
come in handy later on. Grab another big bunch 
of cartridges. Get the pocket compass out of my 
valise. Go into the buffet and cram your pockets 
full of bread and meat. We might shoot small 
game enough to keep us alive, but shooting makes 
a noise. 

“ Do these things first of all, and then hunt 
up Melton. You know whom I mean — that cattle- 
man from Montana that we were talking to yes- 
terday. He’s a good fellow and a game sport. 
He told me he was going to Montillo on business 
connected with his ranch. That’s the first station 
on the other side of the bridge. The train will 
be there in an hour. Tell Melton the fix we’re in. 
He’s chased outlaws himself and he’ll understand. 
Ask him to go to the American Consul the minute 
he gets to Montillo and put It up to him that 
American citizens need help and need It quick. 
It’s an important town and we’ll probably have 
a consul there. If not, ask Melton to put the 
facts before the Mexican authorities. They don’t 
love Americans very much, but they’re a little 
afraid that the Washington people may mix in 
here, and they may not want to get in bad with 
them. Besides they hate the guerillas just about 


THE PURSUIT 23 

as much as we do. Anyway we’ll have to take 
the chance.” 

“How about following the trail?” suggested 
Tom. “There are plenty of bloodhounds 
around. They use them to chase the peons and 
Yaquis. Shall I ask Melton to send some along 
if he can? ” 

“No,” replied Bert, “I thought of that, but 
their baying might give us away. If they suspect 
pursuit, they might kill Dick and scatter before 
we could get to them. You and I are woodmen 
enough to follow a trail made by twenty horses. 
If there were only one they might get away with 
it, but not when there are so many. Now get a 
move on, old man. I’ll wait for you here study- 
ing the signs, and we’ll start as soon as you get 
back. If reinforcements catch up to us, all right. 
If we can get Dick without them so much the 
better. If not, they’ll help us later on.” 

Without another word Tom leaped to his feet 
and was pfl down the road like the flight of an ar- 
row. 


CHAPTER III 


A Gallant Comrade 
S he flew on, he heard the shrill whistle of 



the engine and the ringing of its bell. The 
train was getting ready to move. Groups of 
workmen, tools in hand, were coming from the 
ravine, and the passengers, glad that the weari- 
some wait was over, were getting on the platform, 
ready to climb into the cars. He let out a link 
and reached the train just as the engineer was 
getting into his cab. Tom blurted out the facts 
of Dick’s capture, and the conductor, coming up 
just then, willingly consented to hold the train a 
few minutes longer. 

To carry out Bert’s instructions was with Tom 
the work of a moment, and then, with pockets 
crammed to bursting, he sought out Melton, the 
cattleman. 

That individual, a grizzled weather beaten vet- 
eran of the plains, listened with the liveliest sym- 
pathy and indignation. His eyes, beneath his 
shaggy brows fairly blazed as Tom panted out 
the story. 


24 


A GALLANT COMRADE 


25 


“ The dogs ! The whelps I ” he cried, as he 
brought down his gnarled fist with a tremendous 
thump. “ If I were only twenty years younger 
or a hundred pounds lighter, I’d come with you 
myself. But I’d only hold you back if I went on 
foot. But you’ll see me yet,” he went on sav- 
agely; “ I’ll fix up things at Montillo as you ask, 
and then I’ll get a horse and come after you. 
I thought my fighting days were over, but I’ve still 
got one good fight under my belt. Go ahead, 
my boy. You’re the real stuff and I wish I had a 
son like you. You make me proud of being an 
American. I’ll do my best to be in at the death, 
and God help those greasers if I get them under 
my guns.” 

His warmth and eagerness proved that Bert 
had made no mistake in enlisting him as their ally 
at this time of deadly need. With a fervent word 
of thanks and a crushing hand grip, Tom leaped 
frdnj the train and sped back to the comrade who 
was impatiently awaiting him. A hurried report 
of his minion and they were off on the trail. 

What wa^ at the end of that trail? Dick, alive 
or dead? Rescue or defeat? A joyful reunion 
or graves for three? All they knew was that, 
whatever awaited them, it was not disgrace. And 
they grimly pulled their belts tighter and pressed 
forward. 

As they climbed upward they came to an open 


26 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

space from which they had a wide view of the sur- 
rounding country. As they looked back to the 
south, they heard the faint whistle of the depart- 
ing train and saw the thin veil of smoke that it 
left behind. Not until that moment did they real- 
ize how utterly alone they were. It was the snap- 
ping of the last link that bound them to civiliza- 
tion. With the swiftness of a kaleidoscope their 
whole life had changed. That morning, without 
the slightest idea of what fate had in store for 
them, they had been together, exchanging jest 
and banter; now one of their comrades was a cap- 
tive in the power of desperate brigands and they 
were on their way to save him or die with him. 
It was a forlorn hope; but forlorn hopes have 
a way of winning out in this world, where grit is 
at a premium, and although they were sobered 
at the awful odds against them, they were not 
dismayed. 

If they should be too late ! This was the ter- 
rible fear that haunted them. Already the after- 
noon had advanced and their shadows were grow- 
ing longer behind them. Bert consulted his 
watch. Night comes on suddenly in those lati- 
tudes and there were only a few hours of the 
precious daylight left. Whatever they did that 
day would have to be done before darkness set in. 
It was difficult enough to follow the trail by day- 
light, but at night it would be utterly impossible. 


A GALLANT COMRADE '27 

Since they had not killed Dick at once the prob- 
ability was that his life would be safe during the 
flight. But at night they would be resting, with 
nothing to do but drink and gamble and indulge 
in every vice of their depraved natures. What 
deviltry might come to the surface, what thirst 
for blood and death that could only be slaked m 
the torture of their captive! Nine-tenths of the 
world’s crime is committed under cover of the 
night, and it is not without reason that Satan has 
been called the “ Prince of Darkness.” 

Such thoughts as these gave an added quickness 
to their steps. The way led steadily uphill. The 
path was rough and they tripped often over the 
tangled undergrowth. Long creepers reached 
down like snakes to grasp them from the branches 
overhead. Once they narrowly escaped a treach- 
erous bog that got a firm grip on Tom’s feet, and 
from which Bert only pulled him out by the ut- 
most exertion of his strength. At times they lost 
the trail altogether, and fumed for nearly an hour 
before they took up the thread again. At the 
brook through which Dick’s captors had walked 
their horses, they had almost begun to despair, 
when an exclamation of Tom’s showed that he 
had found the spot where they had left the water. 
But through all these vexations, they stuck to the 
work with dogged tenacity. Then suddenly, al- 
most without warning, night came down on them 


28 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


like a blanket. There was nothing of the long 
dusk and waning light common to northern climes. 
Five minutes earlier there was light enough for 
them to read by. Five minutes later and they 
could not see their hand before their face. 

“ Well, Tom, old scout,’* said Bert, “ it’s no 
go for to-day. We’ve got to go into camp.” 

“Yes,” agreed Tom, bitterly, “ we’ve done our 
best, but our best isn’t good enough. Poor 
Dick ” 

“ Brace up, old fellow,” replied Bert, feigning 
a cheerfulness he did not feel, “we’ll get there 
yet. To-morrow’s a new day. And remember 
that this same darkness is holding up- the guerillas 
too. They’ve got to go into camp and they’re 
not getting any further ahead of us. Likely 
enough they’ll feel pretty secure now and they 
won’t be stirring so early to-morrow, while we’ll 
be afoot at the first streak of daylight. What 
we’ve got to do now is to figure out the best and 
safest way to spend the night.” 

Near the spot where they were when darkness 
had overtaken them, was a grassy knoll, at the 
edge of which uprose a giant rock. At the foot 
of this they drew together enough of branches 
and shrubs to make a rude bed, and prepared to 
settle down and spend as best they could the hours 
before the coming of the dawn. They did not 
dare to make a fire, lest some prying eyes might 


A GALLANT COMRADE 


29 


discover their location. They had nothing to 
cook anyway, but the fire would have served to 
keep up their spirits and the smoke would have 
kept off the mosquitoes that hovered over them in 
swarms. It would have helped also to drive the 
chill from their bones, brought on by the heavy 
mists that rose from the lush vegetation and set 
their teeth to chattering. They drew close to- 
gether for the companionship, and munched their 
bread and meat in silence. They were feeling 
the reaction that follows sustained effort and great 
excitement, and their hearts were too sick and 
sore for speech. 

Then suddenly while they brooded — as sud- 
denly as the sun had set — the moon arose and 
flooded the world with glory. 

It put new life into the boys. They took heart 
of hope. Their mental barometer began to climb. 

“ I say, Bert,” exclaimed Tom, eagerly voicing 
the thought that struck them both at once, 
“ couldn’t we follow the trail by moonlight? ” 

“ I don’t know,” answered Bert, quite as ex- 
citedly. “ Perhaps we can. Let’s make a try at 
it.” 

They started to their feet and hurried to the 
spot where they had left the trail. Bathed in that 
soft luminous splendor. It certainly seemed as 
though they should have no difficulty in following 
it as easily as by day. But they soon found their 


30 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


mistake. It was an unreal light, a fairy light that 
fled from details and concealed rather than re- 
vealed them. It lay on the ground like a shim- 
mering, silken mesh, but through its tremulous 
beauty they could not detect the signs they sought. 
They needed the merciless, penetrating light of 
day. Their hopes were dashed, but they had to 
yield to the inevitable. They were turning back 
dejectedly to their improvised camp, when Bert 
stopped short in his tracks. 

“What was that?” he whispered, as he 
grasped Tom’s arm. 

“ I don’t hear anything,” returned Tom. 

“ I did. Listen.” 

They stood like stones, scarcely venturing to 
breathe. Then Tom, too, caught the sound. It 
was the faint, far-off tramp of horses. Bert threw 
himself down with his ear to the ground. A mo- 
ment later he jumped to his feet. 

“ Three horses at least,” he said quickly. “ Get 
in the shadow of the rock and have your gun 
ready.” 

They crouched down where it was blackest and 
strained their eyes along the road up which they 
had come. Nearer and nearer came the cautious 
tread, and their fingers fidgeted on the trigger. 
Then a faint blur appeared on the moonlit path. 
Another moment and it resolved itself into a burly 
figure riding a wiry broncho and leading two 


A GALLANT COMRADE 


31 


others. The moonlight fell full on his rugged 
face and the boys gave a simultaneous gasp. 

“ Melton I ” they cried, as they rushed toward 
him. 

At the first sound, the newcomer had grasped 
a carbine that lay across his saddle, and in a flash 
the boys were covered. Then, as he recognized 
them, he lowered the weapon and grinned delight- 
edly. In another second he was on the ground 
and his hands were almost wrung off in frantic 
welcome. 

“ Guessed it right the first time,” he chuckled. 
“ Melton sure enough. You didn’t think I was 
bluffing, did you, when I said I’d come? If I’d 
left you two young fellows to make this fight alone, 
I could never have looked a white man in the face 
again. We Americans have got to stick together 
in this God-forsaken country. It’s a long time 
since I’ve ridden the range and taken pot-shots 
at the greasers, but I guess I haven’t forgotten 
how. But now let me get these bronchos hob- 
bled and then we’ll have a gabfest.” 

With the deftness of an- old frontiersman, he 
staked out the horses where the grazing was good, 
and then the three sought the shelter of the rock. 
The boys were jubilant at this notable addition to 
their forces. His skill and courage and long ex- 
perience made him invaluable. And their hearts 
warmed toward this comparative stranger who 


32 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


had made their quarrel his, because they were his 
countrymen and because he saw in them a spirit 
kindred to his own. Not one in a thousand would 
have left his business and risked his life with such 
a fine disregard of the odds against him. Up to 
this time they had had only a fighting chance ; now 
they were beginning to feel that it might be a 
winning chance. 

The old cattleman settled his huge bulk on the 
pile of boughs and drew his pipe from his pocket. 
Not until it was filled and lighted and drawing 
well, would he “ unlimber his jaw,” to use his own 
phrase, and tell of the day’s experience. 

I figured it all out on the trail,” he began, as 
he leaned back comfortably against the rock, “ and 
the minute we got to Montillo, I made a bee line 
to the American Consul. A fellow in brass but- 
tons at the door wanted my card and told me I 
would have to wait in the anteroom. But I’m a 
rough and ready sort of fellow — always believe 
in taking the bull by the horns and cutting out 
the red tape — and I pushed him out of the way 
and streaked right into the consul’s private office. 
I guessed the old man was kind o’ shocked by my 
manners — or my lack of them — ^but he’s a good 
sort all right, and when I gave him straight talk 
and told him I wanted him to mix war medicine 
right away, pronto, he got busy on the jump. He 
sent out one of his men to get me three of the 


A GALLANT COMRADE 


33 


best horses that could be had and then he scurried 
round with me to the big Mogul of the town — 
sort of mayor and chief of police rolled into one. 
I ain’t much on the lingo, but I could see that the 
old boy was handing out a pretty stiff line of talk, 
and that the mayor was balky and backing up in 
the shafts. Not ugly, you know — anything but 
that. He was a slick proposition — that mayor. 
Smooth as oil and spreading on the salve a foot 
thick. Shrugging his shoulders and fairly wring- 
ing his hands. So sorry that anything had hap- 
pened to these good Americanos whom he loved 
as though they were his brothers. He was de- 
solated, broken-hearted — but what could he do? 
And every other word was manana — meaning to- 
morrow. That word is the curse of this country. 
Everything is manana — and then when to-morrow 
comes, it’s manana again. 

Well, the old man stood this for a while, and 
then a sort of steely look came into his eyes that 
meant trouble and he sailed into him. Say, it did 
my heart good. Told him there wasn’t going to 
be any manana in this. If there was, Mexico 
City would hear of it and Washington would hear 
of it, and before he knew it he’d be wishing he 
were dead. Those boys had to be helped mighty 
quick. He must call out his guards, get a troop 
of cavalry and send them off on the run. I backed 
up his play by looking fierce and rolling my eyes 


34 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


and resting my hand kind o’ careless like on my 
hip pocket. I guess the mayor had visions of 
sudden death at the hands of a wild and woolly 
Westerner — one of those ‘ dear Americanos 
whom he loved as a brother ’ — and he came down 
like Davy Crockett’s coon. He started ringing 
all sorts of bells on his desk and sending this one 
here and the other one there, and promised by 
all the saints that he’d have them on the trail 
within an hour or two. To make it surer I asked 
the consul as a special favor to say that if they 
didn’t come, I’d be back in a day or two — drop in 
kind o’ casual as it were — to know the reason 
why.” 

He chuckled, as he refilled his pipe and went 
on: 

“Of course, I couldn’t wait around there on 
any such chance as that. We went straight back 
to the consul’s office and these three horses were 
waiting for me. They ain’t much to brag of and 
I’ve got some on my ranch that could lay all 
over them. But they’re gritty little beasts and the 
best that could be got on such short notice. The 
consul lent me his rifle which seems to be a pretty 
good one, and I’ve got the pair of revolvers that 
I always carry with me. 

“ Then I struck the spurs pretty sharply into 
the broncho and lighted out. I knew there wasn’t 
much daylight left and we certainly did some trav- 


A GALLANT COMRADE 35 

eling. I wanted to get up to you before dark if I 
could, but you had too big a start. I had no 
trouble in following the trail — I’ve tracked Sioux 
Indians before now, and these Mexicans are babies 
compared to them, when it comes to covering up 
— and when the dark came on I knew I wasn’t 
very far behind. Then as the horses were still 
full of go, I just dropped the reins on their neck 
and let them meander along. So many horses 
have passed this way that I felt sure they would 
get the scent and keep on in the right direction. 
And as you see I wasn’t very far out. 

“ Well,” he ruminated, “ I guess that’s about 
all.” 

“All! ” exclaimed Bert, warmly. “As if that 
wasn’t enough. I never knew a finer or more 
generous thing. You’ve put us in your debt for 
life.” 

“Yes,” broke in Tom, “for sheer pluck and 
goodness of heart ” 

“ Come, come,” laughed Melton, “ that’s noth- 
ing at all. It’s I who owe you a lot for the chance 
to get into such a lively scrap as this promises to 
be. I was getting rusty and beginning to feel that I 
was out of it. But now I feel as though twenty 
years had dropped away since this morning, and 
I’m' just aching to hear the bark of a gun. It 
takes me back to the wild old days, when a man’s 
life depended upon his quickness with the trigger. 


36 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

My blood is shooting through my veins once more, 
and, by thunder, Pm just as young at this moment 
as either of you fellows.” 

“ Did you get any idea at Montillo who this 
guerilla chief might be?” asked Bert. 

“ Why, yes,” replied Melton, slowly and almost 
reluctantly. “ Of course they’re only guessing, 
and they may not have the right dope. But while 
the consul was spieling with that mayor fellow, I 
caught every once in a while the word ‘ El Tigre.’ 
That means ‘ the Tiger ’ in our language, and on 
our way back to the office he told me enough to 
show how well the name fits him. Some of the 
stories — but there,” he broke off, checking himself 
abruptly, “ it’s getting late, and we’ve got to be 
stirring at the first streak of daylight. Now you 
fellows turn in and I’ll sit here and figure things 
out a little.” 

Bert and Tom vigorously protested that they 
would take turns in watching, but he waved them 
off with a good humor that still had in it a touch 
of finality. 

“ Not a bit of it,” he said. “ More than once 
I’ve gone days and nights together without a wink 
of sleep, and felt none the worse for it. I’m 
a tough old knot, but you young fellows have 
got to have your sleep. Besides, I’ve got a lot 
of things I want to think out before morning.” 

Under his kindly but Forceful persistence, there 


A GALLANT COMRADE 


37 


was nothing else to be done without offending him, 
and he had done too much for them not to have 
his way in this. So, under protest, they stretched 
their weary bodies on the rude couch they had 
prepared. At first their minds were so full of 
anxious thoughts about Dick that it seemed as 
though they couldn’t sleep. But old nature had 
her way with them and before long they were 
lost in the sleep of utter exhaustion. 

“ Mighty lucky I stopped that fool tongue of 
mine in time,” mused Melton, as he looked at 
their tired faces, “ or there would have been no 
sleep for them this night.” 

For it was a gruesome story that the consul 
had told him that afternoon. A fearful reckon- 
ing would be demanded of the “ Tiger ” at the 
day of judgment. A more villainous character 
could not be found in the length and breadth of 
Mexico. Awful tales were told of him and others 
more horrible could not be told. That he was a 
robber and murderer went without saying. Every 
bandit chief was that. Those were mere every- 
day incidents of the “ profession.” But the evil 
preeminence of the Tiger lay in his love of tor- 
ture for its own sake. He reveled in blood and 
tears. He was a master of devilish ingenuity. 
The shrieks of the victims were his sweetest music. 
He was, morally, a cross between an Apache In- 
dian and a Chinese executioner. There were 


38 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

whispers of babies roasted in ovens, of children 
tortured before the eyes of bound and helpless 
parents until the latter became raving maniacs, 
of eyes gouged out and noses cut off and faces 
carved until they were only a frightful caricature 
of humanity. His band was composed of scoun- 
drels almost as hardened as himself and with them 
he held all the nearby country in terror. Re- 
wards were out for his capture dead or alive, but 
he laughed at pursuers and so far had thwarted 
all the plans of the Government troops. 

And this was the man into whose hands Dick 
had fallen. The boys had wondered why the 
bandit, if he meant to kill Dick at all had not 
done so at once. Melton shook with rage as he 
thought that perhaps he knew the reason. Per- 
haps at this very moment 

But such thoughts unmanned one, and, hop- 
ing that Proyidence would prove kinder than his 
fears, he resolutely turned his mind in other chan- 
nels. 

And there was plenty to think about. He had 
been engaged in many dare-devil adventures in 
his varied life, but, as he admitted to himself with 
a smile half grave, half whimsical, there were 
few that he remembered so desperate as this. He 
did not underrate the enemy. Like most West- 
ern men, he had a contempt for “ greasers,” but 
he knew that it was not safe to carry that con- 


\ GALLANT COMRADE 


39 

tempt too far. An American, to be sure, might 
tackle two or three Mexicans and have a fair 
chance of coming out winner, but when the odds 
were greater than that his chances were poor. 
But in this case the odds would probably be ten 
to one or more. Then, too, these were men 
whose lives were forfeit to the law — double-dyed 
murderers who could look for nothing but a 
“ short shrift and a long rope ” if they were cap- 
tured. They would fight with the fierceness of 
cornered rats. Moreover, they would be on the 
defensive and in a country where they knew every 
foot of ground and could seize every advantage. 
Altogether the outlook was grave, and it speaks 
volumes for the character of the man that his 
spirits rose with danger and he would have been 
bitterly disappointed if he were cheated of the 
promised fight. 

Absorbed in his thoughts, the night passed 
quickly, and as the first ray of light shot across 
the eastern sky, he roused the boys from slumber. 

“ Time to get a move on,” he announced cheer- 
ily. “ A bite of grub and we’ll be off. The 
horses can make better time in the cool of the 
morning, and if we have any luck we may strike 
those fellows before they’ve had time to get the 
sleep out of their eyes.” 

His energy found an echo in that of the boys, 
and in a few minutes their meagre breakfast had 


40 


BERT WILSON AT PANAIV A 


been despatched, the horses saddled and they had 
hit the trail. 

The path wound steadily upward. It was too 
narrow for them to ride abreast, and Melton rode 
in advance, scanning the road with the eye of a 
hawk. Three hours passed, and just as they were 
nearing the top of the plateau, the leader suddenly 
stopped. With uplifted hand to enjoin silence, 
he turned into the dense forest at the side of the 
path and dismounted. Bert and Tom followed 
suit. 

“ I smell smoke,” Melton whispered. “ There’s 
a campfire not far off.” 

And as a vagrant breeze strayed toward them, 
the boys, too, sniffed the unmistakable odor of 
smoke. 

“ Of course,” went on Melton in a low tone, 
“ it’s no sure thing that this comes from the camp 
of the fellows we’re after. But all the chances 
lie that way. We’ll tie our horses here and go 
ahead on foot. See that your guns are handy 
and don’t step on any loose twigs.” 

A moment later and the bronchos were securely 
tied, and, silent as ghosts, they crept up the wood- 
land path. 


CHAPTER IV 


The Captured Sentry 
HEY had wormed their way through the 



A thick undergrowth for perhaps three hun- 
dred feet, when Melton, who was in the van, 
paused abruptly and gave a sign of caution. 
Then he beckoned the boys to come nearer. 

“They’ve got a sentry posted here,” he whis- 
pered, “ I’d hoped they’d be too careless or too 
drunk to do it. Look over there a little to the 
right.” 

They peered through the bushes andi*saw, sit- 
ting on a tree stump, a Mexican, carrying a car- 
bine, slung in the hollow of his arm. His back 
was toward them at the moment, but even while 
they gazed, he lazily rose and turned around, so 
that they caught a full view of his face. It was 
a rascally face that left no doubt in their minds 
that he was one of the bandit crew. A long knife 
was thrust in his belt, and he looked like an ugly 
customer to tackle in a fight. His small, pig- 
like eyes looked listlessly about, and then, seeing 


42 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

no sign of danger, he reseated himself, and taking 
a flask from his pocket, applied it to his lips. 

At a glance from Melton, they retreated as 
noiselessly as they had advanced, and not until 
they had gotten beyond earshot, did they stop for 
consultation as to their next move. 

Bert and Tom' felt their hearts beating high 
with excitement, but Melton was as cool and Im- 
passive as though he were seated on the veranda 
of his ranch. 

While they waited for him to speak, he drew 
from Its sheath a long double-edged bowie knife 
and fingered It thoughtfully. 

“ It’s a long time since I’ve done It,” he mused. 
“ I wonder If I can do it now. I’ll try It out 
first.” 

Rising, he went over to a tree about fifty feet 
away. At a height of six feet from the ground, 
he cut out a circle of bark, about the size of a sau- 
cer. The white patch stood out in strong con- 
trast to the rest of the tree. Returning to the 
boys, who had looked on puzzled at his action, 
he planted himself solidly and took the bowie by 
the blade. A moment he stood thus, measuring 
the distance. Then he raised the weapon and 
hurled It at the bark. It whizzed through the air 
in a gleam of light, and struck two inches inside 
the circle, where it hung quivering. It was a 
marvelous bit of knife play, and Bert and Tom 
could hardly repress an exclamation. 


THE CAPTURED SENTRYj 


43 


“ That’s all I wanted to know,” muttered Mel- 
ton, as he came back, after pulling the knife from 
the tree and restoring it to its sheath. “ It’s a 
little trick that has saved my life once or twice 
before on the plains, and I wanted to make sure 
that I hadn’t forgotten. I guess if I could hit 
that circle, I could do for the Mexican. 

“ For as you boys may imagine,” he went on, 
“ I wasn’t doing this thing for pastime. We’vd 
got to get that sentinel out of the way. Of course, 
it would be an easy thing to wing him with a bul- 
let. But that makes a noise and probably the 
camp is not far off. Our only chance lies in tak- 
ing them by surprise. If they once get wind of 
our coming we’ll have as much chance as a cellu- 
loid dog chasing an asbestos cat through Hades. 
I’d rather take this fellow alive if we could, for 
we might be able to get some valuable informa- 
tion from him. But I’m afraid he’d let out a yell 
or shoot off his gun before we could get to him. 
I guess we’ll have to depend on this little per- 
suader,” he concluded, as he put his hand on the 
shaft of the knife.” 

Bert had been thinking rapidly. 

“ Couldn’t we save that as a last resort? ” he 
ventured. “ I think that perhaps I might creep 
up on that fellow without his seeing me.” 

“But how?” asked Melton in surprise. 
“You‘d have to be as quick as a coyote and as 
light as a cat to do it. What’s your idea? ” 


44 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


“ Why,” replied Bert, “ I figure that we might 
go back to the place where we first saw him. 
You can see from the listless way he looked 
around that he isn’t really on the alert. Then 
too, he’s drinking. If we find that he’s facing our 
way. I’ll make a circuit and get back of him. Then 
at the right second I’ll make my dash. He prob- 
ably won’t hear me until I get close to him, and 
then he’ll be so paralyzed, what with the surprise 
and the drink, that I’ll have my hands on his 
throat before he can make a sound. In the mean- 
time, you keep him covered with your knife, and if 
he sees me too soon you can let fly.” 

Melton, a man used to quick decisions, spent 
only a moment weighing the pros and cons, look- 
ing keenly at Bert the while. What he saw 
seemed to satisfy him. 

“ It’s a plucky stunt,” he said, “ but you’re 
the lad to do it if any one can. I’d sure like to 
make that fellow talk before he goes over the 
great divide. Come along.” 

Noiselessly, they reached their former point of 
observation. The sentinel still sat there facing 
their way. The flask was in his hand and they 
could see from the way he tilted it that it was 
nearly empty. His carbine stood with its butt 
on the ground and the muzzle resting against the 
stump. Crouching low in the thicket, Melton 
drew his knife from its sheath, his eye guaging the 


THE CAPTURED SENTRY 


45 


distance. Bert, who had shed his coat and shoes, 
with a parting pat from Tom, made a wide circuit 
to the left, creeping along with his body close to 
the ground and scarcely daring to breathe. Once 
a twig cracked beneath his hand and his heart 
seemed to stop beating. But no sound came from 
the unsuspecting sentry, and after a moment’s 
pause he went on. Soon he reached a point about 
a hundred feet in the rear of the Mexican, and be- 
hind the shelter of a huge tree rose slowly to his 
feet. 

For forty feet the undergrowth was thick 
enough to conceal him. But then came the little 
clearing where for sixty feet no concealment was 
possible. He did not dare to tiptoe over it, be- 
cause, if he were seen he could not get under way 
fast enough to reach his quarry. It must be a 
lightning dash. Once he had run a hundred 
yards — three hundred feet — in ten seconds flat. 
That would give him three seconds or less to cross 
the clearing. But a bullet could travel faster 
still. He drew a long breath and then, as lightly 
and swiftly as a panther, he leaped over the in- 
tervening space. 

He had covered half the distance when the 
sentry heard him and sprang to his feet. For 
the fraction of a second he stood, petrified with 
surprise and fright. Then he reached for his 
carbine, but as though realizing that he could not 


46 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

level it in time, he abandoned that idea and 
snatched at his knife. And just then Bert 
launched himself on him like a thunderbolt. 

Down they went fighting like wildcats. They 
rolled over and over. Bert’s hands were on the 
rascal’s throat and he could not utter a cry. But 
his knife was out and upraised to strike, when 
Tom, who with Melton had rushed from the 
bushes the moment the clash had come, grasped 
the uplifted hand and wrenched it until the knife 
fell to the ground. Another instant, and the 
scoundrel, bound with his own belt and gagged 
with a portion of the serape torn from his shoul- 
ders, was sitting huddled up on the ground, with 
his back against the stump, while baffled rage and 
hate glowed from his wicked eyes. 

“ Good work, my boy, good work,” said Mel- 
ton, as he grasped Bert’s hand warmly. “ You 
tackled that fellow like a ton of brick. I never 
saw a prettier rough house than that was for a 
minute. Now get your breath back while I try 
to get this fellow to listen to reason. I know this 
breed of cattle pretty well and I have a hunch 
that it won’t be long before we understand each 
other.” 

He drew out his bowie knife and felt its edge, 
while the prisoner looked on with a growing 
terror in his eyes. 

Melton reached down and grabbing the fellow 
by the collar jerked him to his feet. 


THE CAPTURED SENTRY 


47 


“ Now, listen,” he said, in the mongrel blending 
of English and Mexican that is understood on 
both sides of the border. “ You’re going to be a 
dead man in one minute if you don’t tell me the 
truth. Sabe?” 

Melton’s eyes were like two lambent flames, 
and as the fellow looked into them, he wilted 
like a rag. He nodded his head eagerly as a 
sign that he would tell all he knew. 

“ I guessed as much,” said Melton, grimly, 
as he turned to the boys. ‘‘ These dogs would 
betray their own brother to save their miserable 
carcass. Untie that gag, and I’ll turn him inside 
out until I get from him all he knows.” 

He placed the point of his bowie at the brig- 
and’s throat, and held it there while the boys 
removed the gag. 

“ One yip from you, and this knife goes in up 
to the hilt,” said Melton. “ Now tell me how 
far away your camp is from here.” 

“ About a mile,” replied the man, sullenly. 

“What is the name of your captain? ” 

“ El Tigre,” was the answer, and the fellow 
shivered as he mentioned that redoubtable 
name. 

“ How many men has he with him? ” was the 
next question. 

The bandit did not know exactly. There had 
been fifty or more, but a dozen or so had been 
sent on an expedition late last night. Maybe 


48 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

there were thirty or forty there now. He could 
not tell for sure. 

The knife pricked sharply, and the fellow went 
down on his knees in an agony of terror, and 
swore by all his saints that he was telling all he 
knew. Why should be lie to the senor? The 
senor might kill him, but what he was saying 
was the truth. 

“ Get up,” said Melton, disgustedly, for the 
cowardice of the cringing creature sickened him. 
“ Now tell me what captives were in the camp 
and what your chief intends to do with them.” 

There were two captives there just now. One 
of them was a Chinaman, who had been taken 
in a raid on a hacienda, d6wn in the valley. The 
other was an Americano, who had been surprised 
yesterday, when he came upon the band, just as 
they were getting ready to go away into the 
mountains. Three days ago there had been 
seven prisoners, but now — . The rascal made 
an expressive gesture that told only too clearly 
what had become of the miserable seven, and 
Melton had need of all his self-control not to 
end his prisoner’s worthless life then and there, 
while Bert and Tom grew pale as they thought 
of Dick. 

By an effort they restrained themselves, and 
the questioning went on. The bandit did not 
know what his chief intended to do. He rather 


THE CAPTURED SENTRY 


49 


thought that very morning the Chinaman would 
be put out of the way. But the young Ameri- 
cano, so cool, so brave — he did not know. El 
Tigre had seemed to be puzzled about him. The 
chief had been drinking hard and was very ugly. 
Yes, that was all he knew, and if the senor were 
to kill him, he swore on the head of his father 
that he had told nothing but the truth. 

At a sign from Melton, the boys replaced the 
gag. They had drained him dry of information, 
and now they knew the work that was cut out 
for them. They dragged him into the thick 
underbrush and tied him to a tree. Then with 
a parting prick from the bowie, and a threat of 
instant death, if he sought to release himself be- 
for their return, they braced themselves for the 
task before them. 

“ It’s up to us, my lads,” said Melton, as he 
carefully examined his weapons to see that they 
were in prime condition, while Bert and Tom fol- 
lowed his example. “ The next half hour will 
probably tell the story. We’re in for a lovely 
scrap, and we’ll have that friend of yours with 
us when we come back, or we’ll never come back 
at all.” 

A keen sense of elation thrilled Bert and Tom, 
as they fell in behind the old frontiersman, and 
followed him in Indian file up the path. The 
sickening suspense was over. The storm was 


50 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

about to break. Waiting was to be replaced 
by action. A few minutes more and they were 
to be battling for Dick’s life and their own. 
The primeval man had broken through the ve- 
neer of civilization, and their nerves were tin- 
gling with longing for the fight. 

For ten minutes they went on at a rapid pace. 
Then the sounds of the camp fell upon their 
ears, and they crept on with caution. They could 
hear oaths, interspersed with drunken laughter, 
and the stamping of horses. Abandoning the 
path, they vanished into the thick undergrowth, 
and now on hands and knees drew near the clear- 
ing. Reaching its edge, they peered through the 
bushes, and saw a sight that froze the blood in 
their veins. 


CHAPTER V 


A Fiendish Torture 

TT was long after dark on the day of Dick’s 
capture, when the guerillas reached their 
camp. Familiar as they were with every inch 
of the way, they had gone on as rapidly after 
sunset as before, and only drew rein when they 
had reached the clearing. Dick was lifted from 
the broncho, and the bonds removed from his 
hands and feet. He suffered torments as the 
blood rushed back Into his cramped members, 
but at least he was comparatively free to move 
about, and before long he had recovered from 
the physical effects of his long and exhausting 
ride. 

His mind also had regained Its serenity and 
poise. He was cool and calm to a degree that 
surprised even himself. The first shock was over. 
He had already tasted of the bitterness of death. 
In those long hours, he had fought the battle In 
his own heart and conquered. Now he was ready 
for whatever might befall. From this time on, 
no chance either of life or death could disturb 
51 


52 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


him. He was prepared for either. But his keen 
eyes and trained senses were on the alert to take 
advantage of any slip on the part of his captors, 
and he was determined to sell his life dearly. If 
they took it, they should at least pay for it. 

Pedro, who seemed to be the captain’s right- 
hand man, led the way to a ragged tent, of which 
there were perhaps a dozen in the clearing. In- 
side was a rude bed of boughs covered by an old 
saddle blanket. A wooden bench was the only 
other item of furniture, while a smoky pine 
torch, thrust into the cleft of a stump, gave a 
dismal light. Three of the bandits were sta- 
tioned as a guard at the door of the tent, while 
two others were placed at the back. It was evi- 
dent that the chief was taking no chances. They 
left his hands unbound, while he ate the meal of 
frijoles and tortillas that was presently brought 
to him, but when he had finished, his hands were 
again tied, though not so tightly as before, while 
his feet were secured to a stake, driven Into the 
ground at the foot of the bed. Thus fastened, 
he could sit or lie on the bed, but could not move 
about. This done, they left him for a while to 
his reflections. 

Outside, the camp was given up to boisterous 
hilarity. The bandits had ridden hard and far 
that day, and they were enjoying the sense of 
rest and relaxation that comes after a day in the 


A FIENDISH TORTURE 


53 


saddle. Their horses were picketed In rows on 
the edge of the clearing, while their masters sat 
around a huge fire and sought diversion after the 
manner of their kind. Games of cards and dice 
were in progress, and bottles of mescal passed 
from hand to hand. The growing drunkenness 
led rapidly to quarrels, and, in one of the groups, 
a stabbing affray was only averted by the coming 
of El Tigre on the scene. The noise ceased like 
magic and the knives were replaced in their 
sheaths, while the revelers tried to slink out of 
the sight of their dreaded master. He glared 
at the brawlers for a moment, but his mind was 
on something else just then, and, lifting the flap 
of Dick’s tent, he stepped inside. 

He had expected to find an anxious, excited, 
agonized prisoner. He stopped, nonplussed. 
Stretched out on his bed, Dick was sleeping as 
peacefully as a baby. Not a trace of fear or 
worry was visible on the strong, handsome face. 
It was a novel experience — this sort of disdain- 
ful defiance — to the monster whose name was a 
synonym of terror over all that district. 

“ These cursed Americanos,” he muttered. 
“Where do they get their courage? And those 
eyes — the first that ever looked Into mine with- 
out falling. I swore to myself this morning that 
I’d pluck them out of his head. But I’ve thought 
of something better since,” he mused, while a 


54 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


devilish grin spread over his face, “ and Til let 
him keep them until he sees what I’ll have ready 
for him in the morning.” 

He was about to rouse the sleeper with a vi- 
cious kick, but thought better of it. 

“ No,” he growled, “ let him sleep. He’ll be 
in better condition in the morning, and it will 
make his dying harder and longer.” And with 
a last venomous look, he left the tent and its 
sleeping occupant, and went to his own quarters. 

The camp wore a festal air the next morning. 
There was a general atmosphere of eager expec- 
tation. It was evident that something unusual 
was afoot. The fellow that brought in Dick’s 
breakfast looked at him with a covert interest, as 
though he were to be an important actor in a 
drama for which the stage was being set. Had 
Dick known as much as Melton had learned of 
the hideous fame of his captor, he might have 
divined sooner the nature of these preparations. 
He had slept soundly, and Ithe freshness and 
brightness of the morning had given him new 
hopes. The food served him was very good and 
abundant, and he did not know why, just as he 
was finishing it, the thought came to him of the 
especially good breakfast served to condemned 
men on the morning of their execution. He 
brushed the thought away from him, and just 
then Pedro appeared at the door of the ten, 
accompanied by a half dozen of his mates. 


A FIENDISH TORTURE 


55 


He untied the prisoner’s feet, and Dick arose 
and stretched himself. 

“ Come,” growled Pedro, and they went out 
into the open space between the tents. 

The fresh air fanned his forehead gratefully 
and he breathed it in in great draughts. On a 
morning like this, it was good just to be alive. 

He cast a glance around, and saw at once that 
something out of the ordinary was about to take 
place. The entire population of the camp was 
on the scene. Instead of sprawling in haphazard 
fashion on the ground, the bandits were in an 
attitude of alert attention. The dreaded leader 
sat in the center of the clearing, his eyes alight 
with an unholy flame. He rose, as Dick ap- 
proached, with a guard holding his arm on either 
side, and made him a sweeping bow of mock 
politeness. 

“ It is good of the senor to honor us with his 
presence, this morning,” he said in fairly good 
Engilsh — in his early years he had been a cattle 
rustler in Arizona — “but I fear we can offer 
little for his amusement. In fact, we shall have 
to depend on the senor himself to entertain us. 
Is the senor, by any chance, a snake charmer? ” 

“ Look here,” said Dick, fiercely, “ what’s 
your game, anyway? You’ve got my money and 
watch and clothes. Now, what more do you 
want? ” 

“What more?” echoed El Tigre, softly. 


56 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

“Why, only a very little thing. I want your 
life.” 

The last words were fairly hissed. All the 
mock courtesy dropped away, and he stood re- 
vealed in his true character as a gloating fiend, 
his hideous features working with hate. 

That face maddened Dick. With a sudden 
movement, he threw off the guard on either side, 
took one leap forward, and his fist shot out like 
a catapult. It caught the sneering face square 
between the eyes, and the chief went down with 
a crash. In an instant, Dick’s sinewy hands were 
on his throat and choking out his life. 

But now the bandit crew, roused from their 
stupefaction, rushed forward, and overpowered 
him by sheer force of numbers. They dragged 
him from the prostrate form of th’e guerilla, and 
tied him to a tree close to the bushes, on the 
very edge of the clearing. The Tiger’s face was 
bleeding from the smashing blow, when his fol- 
lowers raised him to his feet, and his rage was 
fearful to behold. He drew his knife and was 
about to rush on Dick, when the sight of two of 
his men, coming into the clearing with a bag be- 
tween them, reminded him of his original pur- 
pose. By a mighty effort he restrained himself, 
but the ferocity of his face was appalling. 

Dick, too, looked at the bag, as the men laid 
it on the ground. It was moving. Moving not 


A FIENDISH TORTURE 


57 


sharply or briskly, as it might, had it held fowls 
or rabbits, but with a horrid, crawling, sinuous 
motion. A cold sweat broke out all over him. 
Now he knew what the Tiger had meant, when 
he asked him if he were by any chance a snake 
charmer. 

A word from the chief, and two men came 
forward, holding forked sticks. A third slit the 
bag with his knife from top to bottom. From 
the gaping rent, two monster rattlesnakes rolled 
out. But before they could coil to strike, each 
was pinned to the ground by the forked stick, 
pressed down close behind the head. They 
writhed and twisted frantically, but to no pur- 
pose. Then another man bent down and drove 
his knife through the tail of each, just above the 
rattles. Through the wound he passed a thong 
of buckskin and looped it on the under side. 
Then, in each case, the other end of the thong 
was fastened securely to a stake, driven into the 
ground. When the work was done, a distance of 
ten yards separated the two stakes, and before 
each was a twisting reptile, wild with rage and 
pain. A man stood in front at a safe distance 
and held out a stick, teasingly. The snake flung 
itself to its full length, and the distance it could 
reach was carefully measured. Then, some 
inches beyond this furthest point, other stakes 
were drawn In rude outline of the form of a 


58 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

man. Near the buckskin thongs, men were sta- 
tioned, with gourds full of water. 

And now the stage was fully set for the trag- 
edy. The audience was waiting. It was time 
for the actors to appear and the play begin. 

El Tigre looked curiously at Dick. The lat- 
ter’s heart was beating tumultuously, but he met 
the scoundrel’s gaze with calm defiance. He 
even smiled scornfully, as he stared at the bat- 
tered face, bleeding yet from his blow of a few 
minutes before. The significance of that smile 
lashed the bandit’s soul into fury. 

“ I’ll break him yet,” he swore to himself. 
“ He shall beg for mercy before he dies.” 

Then he said, aloud: “ I was going to let the 
senor go first, but I have changed my mind. He 
is smiling now, and he shall have a longer time 
to enjoy himself.” 

He turned and spoke to some of his followers, 
and they went to a nearby tent, from which they 
emerged a moment later, bringing with them a 
Chinaman, whose yellow face was ghastly with 
fear. As the poor wretch looked around at the 
awful preparations, and realized that he was 
doomed, he threw himself down before the chief 
and tried to embrace his knees. El Tigre spurned 
him with his foot. 

“Tie him down,” he commanded, briefly. 

They bore the unhappy man to the stakes. 



And the Thong began to stretch 


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A FIENDISH TORTURE 


59 

threw him down and bound him so tightly to them 
that he could not move. He was fastened in 
such a way that his face lay on one side, looking 
toward the snake a few feet away. The reptile 
coiled and sprang for the face, missing it by a 
few inches. Several times this was repeated. 
The horror of that wicked head and those drip- 
ping fangs darting towards one’s face was in- 
supportable, and shriek followed shriek from the 
tortured victim. Still, the snake could not actually 
reach him, and if the thong held — 

But now the man with the gourd poured a little 
water on the thong. 

And the thong began to stretch. 

The whole hideous deviltry of it struck Dick 
like a blow. Already he could see that the snake’s 
head went a trifle nearer with every spring. And 
still the water kept dripping. In a few minutes 
more, the fangs would meet in the victim’s face. 

And it was his turn next. He, too, must face 
that grisly horror. Death in its most loathsome 
form was beckoning. His brain reeled, but, by 
a tremendous effort, he steeled himself to meet 
his fate. He would — 

“ Dick!” 

What was that? 

“Dick!” 

Was that Bert’s voice, or was he going insane? 
“ Don’t move, old man,” came a whisper from 


6o 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


behind the tree. “ It’s Bert. I’ve cut the rope 
that holds you until it hangs by a thread. The 
least movement will snap it. Let your hand hang 
down, and I’ll slip you a revolver. Jump, when 
you get the word. We’re going to rush the 
camp.” 

The reaction from despair to hope was so vio- 
lent, that Dick could scarcely hold the weapon 
that was thrust Into his hand. But as he felt the 
cold steel, his grip tightened on the stock, and he 
was himself again. Now at least he had a chance 
to light for his life. 

The snake was getting nearer to its victim’s 
face. The last spring had all but grazed It. All 
eyes were fixed upon It, as It coiled again. Ls 
waving head stood high above Its folds, as It pre- 
pared to launch Itself. And just then a bowle 
knife whizzed through the air and sliced Its head 
from its body. The next instant, a rain of bullets 
swept the clearing, and Melton, Bert, and Tom 
burst from the woods, firing as they came. 


CHAPTER VI 


The Execution of El Tigre 

V^ITH a quick jerk, Dick snapped the rope 
^ ^ that held him and rushed toward his com- 
rades. He ranged himself alongside, and his 
revolver barked in unison with theirs. 

The surprise had been complete. At the first 
shot, the bandits had leaped to their feet, and 
with wild yells scattered in every direction. Most 
of them had left their arms in their tents, and 
had nothing but their knives to defend them from 
attack. And these were wholly insufficient weap- 
ons, with which to meet the little band that flung 
themselves so recklessly upon them. For all they 
knew, they might be the vanguard of a force 
many times stronger, and they fled in wild con- 
fusion. 

The guerilla chief was the only one who kept 
his head. He drew a revolver from his belt and 
returned shot for shot. He backed up slowly in 
the direction of his hut. With his eyes on the 
enemy in front, he had forgotten that the second 
snake was right behind him. He slipped on the 

6i 


62 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


slimy folds, and, the next instant, the enraged 
reptile struck at one of his hands as he attempted 
to rise. A burning pain shot through his index 
finger. He shook off the clinging snake, and, 
jumping upon it, stamped its head into pulp. 
Then he drew his knife and slashed his finger to 
the bone. The next instant he had reached his 
hut and slammed the door behind him. 

The whole thing had happened in the twin- 
kling of an eye. A dozen of the guerillas lay 
dead or wounded on the ground. The odds had 
been reduced with a vengeance, but they were 
still heavy. The attackers had played their trump 
card — that of the surprise. It had taken a 
trick, but the game was not yet over. No one 
knew this better than the old frontiersman. They 
had emptied their revolvers. 

“ Back to the woods,” he shouted, ‘‘ and re- 
load.” 

Waiting only to recover his bowie and slash 
the bonds of the Chinaman, who lay there more 
dead than alive, he led the way. Soon they were 
under cover, and not till then did Dick throw his 
arms around Bert and Tom, in a hug that almost 
made their bones crack. Then he shook hands 
with Melton, with a fervor that made that hardy 
hero wince. 

“ I can never tell you,” began Dick, and then 
he choked. 


THE EXECUTION OF EL TIGRE 63 

“ You don’t have to,” returned Melton, 
gruffly, to conceal his own deep feeling, while 
Bert and Tom, in the grip of strong emotion, 
could only pat Dick’s arms, without speaking; 
“it’s nothing that any white man wouldn’t do 
for another. Besides, we’re not yet out of the 
woods. Those fellows will get their nerve back 
in a minute or two, and then look out for trouble. 
They’ve probably guessed by this time how few 
we are, and they’ll be wild to get back at us. 
That leader of theirs is a beast all right, but he’s 
no coward. The way he cut that poison out of 
his flesh shows that. Load your guns quick, and 
each get behind a big tree. Have your knives 
ready too, if it comes to close quarters.” 

“ But you’re wounded,” cried Dick, as he sa\y. 
a little trickle of blood from Melton’s left shoul- 
der. 

“Only a scratch,” laughed Melton; “the chief 
winged me there with his last shot. That’s one 
I owe him and I always pay my debts. Just twist 
your handkerchief about it, and then we’ll for- 
get it.” 

It proved to be, as he said, only a graze, and 
they returned to their attitude of strained atten- 
tion. 

In the meantime, the Chinaman had come 
hobbling out to them, and in his hollow eyes there 
was a speechless gratitude that made them know 


64 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


that he was their slave for life. He was of no 
value as a reinforcement, and after having set- 
tled him in the shelter of a huge tree, they peered 
from behind their cover for some sign of the ex- 
pected foe. 

Five — ten — twenty minutes passed, and noth- 
ing happened. The waiting was more nerve- 
racking than the actual combat. The only sound 
that broke the stillness was the groans of the 
wounded, as they crawled into and behind their 
tents. It would have been an easy thing to finish 
the work, but none of them could fire on a help- 
less man, even though a murderer and an outlaw. 
They had put them out of the running, and that 
was enough. 

Then suddenly, just as they began to think 
that after all the bandits had decamped, came a 
volley of bullets that pattered among the leaves 
and thudded Into the trees. 

“ I was sure of It,” muttered Melton. “ Keep 
close under cover,” he commanded, “ and make 
every shot tell.” 

Even as he spoke, his rifle cracked, and a 
crouching figure rose with a yell, and lurched 
heavily forward on his face. 

“ One less,” he grunted, “ but there’s still a 
mighty lot of them left.” 

The shots that had been more or less scattered 
now grew Into a fusillade. It was evident that 


THE EXECUTION OF EL TIGRE 65 

the fighting was being intelligently directed, and 
that the bandits were regaining confidence. Mel- 
ton and the boys shot coolly and carefully when- 
ever they saw a head or an arm exposed, and 
the yells that followed the shot told that the bul- 
let had found its mark. But there seemed no let 
up in the enemy’s volleys, and what made Melton 
more uneasy than anything else was that the zone 
of fire was steadily widening. His long experi- 
ence told him unerringly that the foe was trying 
to surround them. If his little band had to face 
four ways at once, it would go hard with them. 

Suddenly he felt a touch on his arm. He 
looked up and saw the Chinaman. The latter 
pointed down the road. 

“ Men coming,” he said. “ Bllg lots of men. 
Horses too.” 

Melton sprang to his feet. Sure enough, 
there were horsemen coming up the road. Was 
It a detachment of the guerilla band returning? 
Were they to be taken by fresh forces in the 
rear? He grabbed Bert by the shoulder. 

“ Here,” he said, ‘‘ face around with me. You 
other fellows stay as you are.” 

They crouched low with their eyes on the road. 
The tramp of hoofs became louder and the jingle 
of spurs and accoutrements fell upon their ears. 
Then their hearts leaped, as round the curve, rid- 
ing hard, swept a squad of Mexican cavalry, fully 


66 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


a hundred in number, their brilliant uniforms glit- 
tering in the sunlight. With a wild hurrah and 
waving their hands, they rushed forward to meet 
them'. 

There was a hasty movement among the front 
ranks, as though to repel an assault, but as they 
saw how few they were and realized the absence 
of hostile intentions, their carbines were lowered 
and the captain in command swung himself to the 
ground. 

He was a young, well set up, soldierly looking 
man, and it took only a moment for him to grasp 
the situation, as it was rapidly sketched out by^ 
Melton. He had been educated in the Mexican 
military school and spoke English fluently. 

“How large a force have you?” he asked. 

“ Here they are,” replied Melton, with a wave 
of his hand. 

“ What ! ” the officer gasped in amazement. 
“ You don’t mean to say that with only four men, 
you attacked El Tigre and his band. It was sui- 
cide.” 

“Well,” laughed Melton, “it hasn’t come to 
that yet, but I’m not denying that things are get- 
ting too warm for comfort. The rascals would 
have had us surrounded in a little while, and I’m 
mighty glad you’ve come.” 

“ You’ve done wonders,” rejoined the captain, 
“ but now you can rest on your arms, while I 
clear out this nest of hornets.” 


[THE EXECUTION OF EL TIGRE 67 

“Not a bit of it,” replied Melton. “We’re 
going to be in at the death.” 

“ You stubborn Americanos,” laughed the cap- 
tain. “So be it then. You’ve certainly earned 
the right to have your way in this.” 

His dispositions were quickly taken. At the 
word of command, his troopers dismounted and 
tethered their horses. Then they deployed in a 
long line across the woods. A bugle blew the 
charge, and with a rousing cheer they rushed up 
the slope and across the clearing. A volley of 
bullets met them and several of them went down, 
but the rest kept on without a pause. Their car- 
bines cracked without cessation, and one outlaw 
after the other fell, until not more than fifteen 
were left. These last were gathered in a corner 
of the camp, where under the leadership of El 
Tigre, who fought with a fury worthy of his 
name, they made their last despairing stand. 

But their hour had come. The blood of their 
victims was at last to be avenged. One final 
charge, and the troops swept over them. The 
guerilla chief, seeing that all was lost, lifted his 
revolver with the last bullet left, and put it to his 
head to blow out his brains. He had always 
boasted that he would never be taken alive. But 
just as his finger was on the trigger, Dick, who, 
with his friends, had been in the forefront of the 
fight, knocked his hand aside and bore him to the 
ground. In another second, he was tightly 


68 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


bound and the fight was over. With four of his 
band, the only survivors, he was put under guard, 
and left to await the pleasure of his captors. 

Then at last, they drew breath. The work 
was done and well done. Dick was with them, 
safe and sound, and none the worse for his ter- 
rible experience. The band which had been the 
scourge of that distracted country had been prac- 
tically wiped out, and the leader, who for so long 
had defied God and man, was a prisoner, await- 
ing his fate. What that fate would be no one 
could doubt, who knew how richly he merited 
death. 

“ I suppose,’* said Dick, as they sat a little 
apart from the others taking lunch with the cap- 
tain of the troop, at his invitation, “ that he’ll be 
taken to Montillo for trial.” 

“ Guess again,” chuckled Melton, who knew 
something of the methods of the Mexican Gov- 
ernment in dealing with guerillas. 

“ My orders were to take no prisoners,” smiled 
the captain, and there was a meaning in his smile 
that boded ill for the remnant of the bandit 
crew. 

“ And, of course, I must obey my orders,” he 
added drily. “The more readily,” he went on, 
as his face grew dark, “ because there is a private 
score that I have to settle with this scoundrel. 
The blood of my younger brother is on his hands. 


THE EXECUTION OF EL TIGRE 69 

You can guess then, senors, whether I was glad, 
when I was trusted on this mission.” 

“ Are they to be shot, then? ” ventured Bert. 

“All but the leader,” answered the captain. 
“ He must hang. And yet he shall not die by 
hanging.” 

Before they could ask an explanation, he rose 
and excused himself, as he had to give some or- 
ders to the soldiers, and they were left to ponder 
in vain for his meaning. 

The next two hours were spent in clearing up 
the camp and burying the dead. The bodies of 
the guerillas were thrown hastily into a narrow 
trench, but those of the soldiers received full mili- 
tary honors, the bugler playing taps, and a salvo 
of musketry being fired over the graves. In the 
meantime the boys had wandered over the camp, 
now shorn of the terror that had so long been 
connected with it. On the upper end, it termin- 
ated at the very brink of a precipice. All of 
Mexico seemed to be stretched out before them. 
The abyss fell sheer down for a thousand feet 
to the rocks below. They shuddered as they 
stood on the edge and looked through the empty 
space. On the brink stood a mighty oak tree, 
with one of its limbs overhanging the chasm. 

A sudden recollection struck Melton. 

“ This must be the place the consul fold me 
about, in one of his stories,” he ejaculated. “ He 


70 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


told me that one of the Tiger’s favorite amuse- 
ments was to bring a prisoner here and prod him 
with bayonets over the brink. “ I guess,” he 
scowled, “ we don’t need to waste much sympathy 
on that fellow, no matter what the captain does 
to him.” 

And the boys, with a lively recollection of the 
snake and the buckskin thong, agreed with him. 

But now the bugle blew and they hurried back 
to the clearing. The troop stood at attention. 
Routine work connected with the raid had been 
despatched, and the time had come for the mili- 
tary execution. Martial law is brief and stern, 
and, under his instructions, the captain had the 
power of life or death without appeal. His face 
was set and solemn, as befitted one on whom 
weighed so heavy a responsibility, but there was 
no relenting in his voice, as he bade a sergeant to 
bring out the prisoners. 

The four came out, sullen and apathetic. He 
looked them over for a moment, and then gave 
a sign. A trench was hastily dug and the prison- 
ers placed with their backs to it. Their eyes 
were bandaged. A firing squad of a dozen men 
advanced to within ten feet and leveled their 
rifles. A moment’s pause, then a sharp word of 
command, and death leaped from the guns. 
When the smoke cleared away, four motionless 
forms lay in the trench, and justice had been done. 


THE EXECUTION OF EL TIGRE 71 

“ Don’t bury them yet,” commanded the cap- 
tain. “ Bring out El Tigre.” 

There was a stir among the soldiers, as the 
dreaded chief, whose evil fame was known all 
over Mexico, was brought before the captain. He 
was harmless enough now. All his power had 
been stripped away, and all that remained to him 
was his one redeeming quality of courage. He 
had heard the firing, and, as he came from the 
tent, he passed close by the bodies of his former 
followers. Doubtless the same fate awaited him, 
but he did not waver, and his hideous face ex- 
pressed only the bitterest venom and malignity. 
If hate could kill, it would have blasted Dick, as 
for a moment the bandit caught sight of him, in 
passing. Then he faced his judge, who was also 
to be his executioner. 

“Do you know me, El Tigre?” asked the 
captain. 

The outlaw glared at him. 

“ No,” he snarled. 

“ Do you remember the boy you captured on 
that raid in the San Joaquin valley, three months 
ago?” 

“What of him?” 

“ He was my brother.” 

The guerilla shot a swift glance at him. 

“ Caframba,” he muttered. Then after an in- 
stant’s silence. “Yes, I remember. He was 


72 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


great sport. He died hard. It was very amus- 
ing. Yes, he died hard.” 

If his object was to provoke instant death, he 
almost succeeded. The captain’s eyes flamed and 
he snatched a revolver from his belt. But he 
saw the stratagem in time and by a great effort 
held himself in check. The flush faded from 
his face, to be succeeded by a deadly pallor. 

“ El Tigre,” he said slowly, “ the earth is 
weary of you and the devil is waiting for you. I 
shall not keep him waiting long. Take him up 
to the oak,” he commanded, pointing to the great 
tree on the edge of the precipice. 

The soldiers fell into line and the procession 
started. 

When they halted under its branches, the hands 
and feet of the outlaw were securely tied. Then 
a soldier climbed into the tree, and far out on 
the branch that overhung the chasm. At a dis- 
tance of twenty feet, he fastened a stout rope. 
Then he crept back, and, making a noose in the 
other end, took his stand beside the prisoner and 
waited for orders. 

The ghastly preparations were telling on the 
nerve of the guerilla, and he broke into a string 
of the wildest blasphemies. Without paying any 
attention to his ravings, the soldier at a signal, 
slipped the noose over his head. But instead of 
tightening it about the neck, as most of the look- 


THE EXECUTION OF EL TIGRE 73 

ers on, as well as the prisoner himself, expected, 
he adroitly drew it down to the waist, and thence 
up under the outlaw’s arms. Then he pulled it 
tight. Four men took hold of El Tigre’s arms 
and legs, bore him to the edge of the precipice, 
and pushed him off into space. 

Like a giant pendulum, he swung out in a great 
arc, and then, returning, almost reached the brink. 
Gradually the arc grew shorter, until he swayed 
perpendicularly from the branch. Below, he 
could see the rocks at the foot of the cliff. The 
bones of many of his victims already reposed 
there. How long before he would join them? 
Was he to be left hanging there as a feast for the 
carrion birds? Wherever he looked was torture. 
Below, the rocks. Above, the vultures. In 
front, the enemies whom he hated with all the 
passion of his soul. 

Ah I A firing squad was coming forward. 
They were going to shoot him then, after all. 
Good! Death would be welcome. He heard 
the roar of the guns, and still he was alive. Could 
they have missed him? Then another volley 
rang out. Still he lived. He could not under- 
stand. His glance went aloft. The rope was 
sagging. He could feel it give. A broken 
strand brushed against his face. And then he 
understood. 

They were firing at the rope! 


74 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

A panic terror seized him. He had reached 
the limit of human endurance. Again the shots, 
and a trembling that told him that the rope was 
hit. He tried to struggle upward. If he could 
only ease his weight. He stretched his bound 
hands aloft in a hopeless effort to climb up to 
the branch. He no longer dared to look below. 
Another volley and a sound of tearing. He 
drew in a long breath as though it would buoy 
him up. His feet felt about for something to 
rest on and relieve the strain. And still he could 
hear the crackling and feel the yielding and 

Once more the guns rang out and the rope 
broke. With curses on his lips and delirium in 
his heart, he fell. Once he turned over in his 
awful flight. Then, a mere atom in that im- 
mensity of space, he shot like a plummet to the 
rocks below. 


CHAPTER VII 


Off for Panama 

J T had been a day of tremendous strain from 
start to finish, and there was a general sigh 
of relief, as they gathered up their traps and pre- 
pared to leave the camp. Not since their light 
with the pirates, had the boys had a closer 
“ shave.” It had been a case of touch and go, 
and they had barely escaped with their lives. But 
they had won out, after all, and, as Tom said, 
“ a miss was as good as a mile.” And their 
hearts warmed at the sense of comradeship, that 
had once again been tested to the limit and proved 
equal to the emergency. They had risked their 
lives for each other, and the fortune that “ favors 
the brave ” had not deserted them. 

For Melton, their feeling was too deep for 
words. His was a heart of gold. Without the 
slightest personal end to be served, and prompted 
solely by his great, big, generous soul, he had 
come to their aid in the moment of deepest need, 
and fought shoulder to shoulder, in their effort to 
save their friend. Again and again they sought 
75 


76 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

to voice their thanks, but the hardy old frontiers- 
man would have none of it. 

“ Cut it out, boys,” he laughed. “ I didn’t do 
a thing that you wouldn’t have done for me, if 
you knew that an American was in trouble. Some 
day perhaps, you can pay me back, if you insist 
on considering it a debt. I only hope, if I evep 
do get in a scrape. I’ll have some young fellows 
of your brand behind me.” 

As none of them could read the future, they 
did not know that there was a touch of prophecy 
in his words, and that the time was coming, when, 
in his own native Rockies, the boys would pay 
the debt with interest. 

From the loot found in the hut of the bandit 
chief, Dick had recovered his watch and money 
and clothes, and declared that he felt like a hu- 
man being again for the first time since he had 
been trapped by the guerilla band on the morn- 
ing before. 

They shuddered, as, on their way through the 
camp, they passed the bodies of the snakes, still 
tethered to the posts. They lay, quiet enough 
now, like the human fiend whose venom had been 
as dangerous as their own. 

“ The snakes and the Tiger,” mused Bert. 
“ They both lost out.” 

But now the cavalry were mounted and ready 
for the start. The horses of the guerillas had 


OFF FOR THE PANAMA 


77 


been released from their hobbles, and were led by 
ropes behind a number of the soldiers. One was 
assigned to Dick, while Melton and the boys 
mounted three, that they were to use temporarily, 
until they had recovered their own that had been 
left further down the trail. 

As they were gathering up the reins, Bert felt 
a touch on his leg. He looked down and saw 
the Chinaman, who in the hurry of preparation 
had been overlooked. 

“Great Scott!” he exclaimed. “The Chink! 
We forgot all about him.” 

The poor fellow’s eyes were full of dread at 
the thought of being left alone In the wilderness. 

“ Of course we’ll take you along, John,” Bert 
continued, “ though I don’t know what on earth 
we’ll do with you. But we’ll settle that later on.” 

Dismounting, he gave the Chinaman a leg up 
on one of the led horses. The Oriental had 
never been on a horse In his life, and he made a 
comical figure, as he bobbed up and down. 
After threatening to fall off at any moment, he 
finally abandoned all effort to sit upright, and, 
leaning forward, threw his arms around the 
horse’s neck and held on for his life. 

“ It’s rather hard lines,” laughed Dick. “ But 
when he thinks of what he’s getting away from, 
I guess he won’t worry much about getting shaken 
up a little.” 


78 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

Soon they reached their own horses, and were 
proceeding to make the exchange, when they re- 
membered the sentry who had been captured on 
that spot. They looked at each other with a lit- 
tle touch of perplexity. 

“ We can’t leave him there to starve,” said 
Tom. “On the other hand, if we remind the 
captain, he’ll simply send one of his troopers to 
put a bullet in him.” 

“ He’s our captive,” said Bert, “ and I guess 
we’d better tend to this on our own account. 
We didn’t actually promise him his life, and no 
doubt he’s deserved death many times over. We 
got some valuable information out of him, 
though, even if it was at the point of a bowie, and 
I think we ought to untie him and let him go.” 

As there was no dissent from this, they went 
to the tree where they had left the sentry. They 
found him nearly dead from terror. He had 
heard the sounds of the fight and the cheers of 
the soldiers, and knew pretty well how the strug- 
gle had ended. Now, as the boys approached, 
he tried to read their purpose in their eyes. He 
knew how he would have acted, had the case been 
reversed, and he did not dare to hope for mercy. 
But, to his astonishment, they took the gag from 
his mouth, untied his hands and told him he was 
free. He shook himself and then staggered 
away in the underbrush, trying to get out of sight 
before his deliverers should change their minds. 


OFF FOR THE PANAMA 


79 

They watched him till he vanished, and then re- 
traced their steps to where Melton was waiting. 

“you did right, boys,” he said. “ Although,” 
He added, “ a good many might think it was a 
case of misplaced sympathy. While I was wait- 
ing, I was reminded of the story of the little girl, 
looking at a picture of the early Christians at- 
tacked by lions in the arena. Her mother saw 
that she was crying, and was pleased to see that 
she was so tender-hearted. ‘It is sad, isn’t it?’ 
she asked. ‘Yes,’ sobbed the child, ‘look at 
this poor thin little lion, that hasn’t any Chris- 
tian.’ ’’ 

The boys laughed, as they sprang into the sad- 
dle. 

“ Of course,” concluded Melton, “ it’s rough 
on any lion to compare him to a fellow like this. 
Perhaps we’d better say a hyena, and let it go at 
that.” 

With hearts light as air, they cantered down 
the trail. Once more, life was smiling. They 
passed in quick succession the various land marks 
they had such good reason to remember. Here 
was the place where they had passed the night, 
and where Melton had come upon them, bringing 
cheer and hope. There was the stream, in which 
the outlaws had walked their horses. Most 
memorable of all was the curve in the road, where 
Dick had come upon the guerillas. Nothing in 
nature had changed since yesterday. But what a 


8o 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


gulf lay between their tortured sensations of the 
day before and the joyous elation of the pres- 
ent I 

It was long after dark, when they rode into 
Montillo — too late to see the consul and the 
mayor that night. They bade a cordial good 
night to the captain, and, with a gay wave of the 
hand to the troopers, went to the leading hotel 
of the place. Here they found their baggage, 
which, thanks again to the thoughtfulness of Mel- 
ton, had been taken from the train and sent there 
to await their coming — that coming which had 
been so doubtful a little while before. They 
saw to it that the Chinaman had food and drink 
and a place to sleep. Then a good supper, a hot 
bath, and they piled between sheets, to await the 
coming of the morrow. 

It was long after sunrise the next morning, 
when they awoke. They had slept soundly, and, 
if any haunting recollection of their experience 
had taken form in a dream, there was no trace of 
anything but jubilation, as they dressed and 
breakfasted to an accompaniment of jest and 
laughter. Melton, who had risen earlier and 
was smoking on the veranda, rose and threw away 
his cigar, and after a hearty handshake, went 
with them to the olEce of the consul. 

“Thank God, you’re back,” he cried fervently, 
as he shook hands with Melton. “ And these, I 


OFF FOR THE PANAMA 


8i 


suppose,” he went on, as he turned toward the 
boys and greeted them warmly, “ are the young 
rascals who have given me so many anxious mo- 
ments lately. By Jove, I can’t tell you how glad 
I am to know that you got out of that scrape all 
right. There aren’t many who have fallen into 
the hands of El Tigre that ever came back to tell 
the story. Sit down now and tell me all about 
it.” 

He was a fine example of Uncle Sam’s repre- 
sentatives abroad, keen, strong, determined, and 
the boys warmed toward him at once. He list- 
ened intently, while Melton told all that had hap- 
pened, and his eyes lighted up, as he learned how 
they had rushed the camp. 

“ It was splendid,” he exclaimed. “ It’s almost 
a miracle and I wonder that you pulled through 
alive.” 

“ It was a narrow squeak,” admitted Melton, 
“ and, at that. I’m afraid we wouldn’t have got 
away with it, if the troopers hadn’t come up 
just when they did. The bandits had got over 
their surprise and were surrounding us. I tell 
you, that squad of soldiers looked mighty good 
to me.” 

“ So I imagine,” rejoined the consul. “ And 
that reminds me that we ought to go round and 
see the mayor. You can thank your friend here,” 
he went on, turning to the boys, “ that the mayor 


82 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


got busy at all in this matter. It was that ‘ hand 
on the hip pocket ’ idea that did the trick. It 
scared him stiff. He thinks a good deal of that 
precious skin of his, and he didn’t like the idea 
of having it shot full of holes. I don’t believe 
he ever hustled so much before in his life. No 
doubt by this time he has had a report of the 
affair from the captain of the squad, and he’ll be 
strutting around like a turkey-cock.” 

The consul’s prediction was confirmed, when, 
a few minutes later, they were ushered into the 
mayor’s office. He was fairly bursting with self 
importance. He greeted them with ineffable po- 
liteness, strongly dashed with condescension. 

He was delighted beyond measure to see his 
dear Americano friends again. But there — it 
was a foregone conclusion. Nothing could with- 
stand his soldiers. He had already telegraphed 
to Mexico City, of the rescue, and of the complete 
destruction of the band of El Tigre. What no 
other mayor had been able to accomplish, he had 
done in one fell swoop. It would probably mean 
— ahem — a decoration, possibly — ahem — politi- 
cal promotion. He trusted that his good Ameri- 
cano friends would report the matter at Washing- 
ton. It would show how sternly the Mexican 
government protected the lives of foreigners in its 
borders. 

And so he went on, in a steady stream of self 


OFF FOR THE PANAMA 83 

laudation, that so strongly stirred the risibles 
of the boys that they did not dare to look at 
each other, for fear that they would laugh out- 
right. But they were, after all, deeply indebted 
to him, no matter what his motives, and they 
maintained their gravity and thanked him heartily 
for the aid he had rendered. Only after they 
had reached the street, did their features relax. 

“Hates himself, doesn’t he?” laughed Tom. 

“ He sure does,” responded Bert. “ He ought 
to be nothing less than president, if you should 
ask him.” 

“ He’s certainly throwing himself away to stay 
here as mayor,” added Dick. “ But, considering 
all that’s happened, I don’t mind if he does pat 
himself on the back. But here comes the man 
to whom we owe an awful lot, too. I like him 
clear down to the ground.” 

It was the young captain who approached, and 
they greeted him heartily. He also had reason 
for elation, both in having avenged his brother 
and in having accomplished a military feat that 
would surely add to his reputation. But he was 
modest, and stoutly disclaimed that the boys owed 
him anything. He had simply done his duty and 
it was all in the day’s work. 

“ He’s the right stuff,” said Tom, as they sep- 
arated, after mutual expressions of esteem. 
“ He ought to be an American.” Which from 


84 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

patriotic, if somewhat prejudiced Tom, was the 
highest praise. 

And now, after warmest farewell's had been 
taken of the consul, there was nothing to keep 
them in Montillo. Yes, there was one thing, as 
Dick suddenly remembered. 

“ The Chink,” he said. “ What about him? ” 

“ Oh, give him a little money and let him stay 
here,” suggested Tom. “ He can easily get 
something to do.” 

The matter thus disposed of, they sauntered 
on. But as they neared the hotel, they saw the 
Celestial evidently waiting for them. 

“ Hello, John,” said Bert, pleasantly. 

“ Hello, slelf,” was the smiling answer. Then 
he went on calmly: “ Me glo with you.” 

“What’s that?” cried Bert, startled. “But 
we’re going to Panama.” 

“ Me glo too. Me glot fiends, Panama.” 

“ But have you got any money to take you 
there? ” 

“ No. You glot money. Me play back,” and 
he beamed on them blandly. 

The boys looked helplessly at each other. 

“ How nice,” murmured Tom. 

“ Well, of all the nerve,” exclaimed Dick. 

“ Me glo with you,” reiterated the Chinaman, 
kindly but firmly; and the benevolence of his smile 
was beautiful to see. 


OFF FOR THE PANAMA 


85 

The bewilderment in Bert’s face was too much 
for the others, and they burst into a roar of 
laughter. 

“ No use, Bert,” said Dick, as soon as he could 
speak. “ He’s got the Indian sign on us, and we 
might as well give in.” 

“ No,” echoed Tom, “ there’s no getting away 
from that smile. If I had it, I could borrow 
money from the Bank of England.” 

“ I throw up my hands,” responded Bert. 
“ He’s adopted us, and that’s all there is about it. 
We’ll take him along as handy man, till he gets 
to his ‘ fiends in Panama.’ ” 

They put him to work at once, getting ready 
the baggage, and when this was completed, they 
sought out Melton to say good-bye. They wrung 
his hand until he laughingly protested that thev 
wanted to cripple him. 

“ We’ll never forget you, never,” they declared 
with fervent sincerity. 

“ Same here,” he replied with equal warmth, 
“ and some day I hope to see you on my ranch. 
I’d like to show you what is meant by a Western 
welcome.” 

“Will we? You bet. Just watch us,” came 
in chorus, and then they reluctantly tore them- 
(selves away from the great hearted specimen of 
Nature’s noblemen, whose place in their hearts 
was secure for all time. 


86 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


“Panama, after all,” exulted Dick, as they 
stood on the station platform. 

“ Yes,” chimed in Tom, “ they couldn’t cheat us 
out of it.” 

“ The quickest route to the coast for us,” added 
Bert, “ and then the rest of the way by boat. 
I’m wild to set my feet once more beneath the 
Stars and Stripes.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


The Great Canal 

/^N a glorious afternoon, a few days later, the 
boys sat on the upper deck of the liner, as' it 
drew near the city of Colon, on the Atlantic side 
of the Isthmus of Panama. With the quick re- 
bound of youth, they had wholly recovered from 
the strain of the preceding days, and were look- 
ing forward with the keenest zest, to the open- 
ing of the great canal, now only two weeks dis- 
tant. They gazed with interest at the Toro 
lighthouse, as the steamer left the gleaming 
waters of the Carribbean Sea, and threaded its 
way up the Bay of Limon to Cristobal, the port 
of Colon. 

“ And to think,” Dick was saying, “ that it’s 
four hundred years almost to a day, since the 
isthmus was discovered, and in all that time they 
never cut it through. To cover that distance of 
forty-nine miles from the Atlantic to the Pacific, 
ships have sailed ten thousand, five hundred 
miles. It almost seems like a reflection on the 
intelligence of the world, doesn’t it?” 

87 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


“ It surely does,” asserted Bert, “ and yet It 
wasn’t altogether a matter of intelligence, but 
of ways and means. In every century since then, 
lots of people have seen the advantages of a 
canal, but they’ve been staggered, when they came 
to count the cost. It’s easy enough to talk of 
cutting through mountains and building giant 
dams and changing the course of rivers. But 
it’s a long jump from theory to performance, 
and they’ve all wilted until your Uncle Samuel 
took up the job. Even France, the most scientific 
nation in Europe, gave it up after she’d spent 
two hundred million dollars.” 

“ It’s a big feather in our cap,” said Tom — 
“ the very biggest thing that has happened in 
the way of engineering, since this old earth be- 
gan. It’s the eighth wonder of the world. The 
building of the pyramids was child’s play, com- 
pared to the problems our people have had to 
meet. But we’ve met them — health problems, 
labor problems, political problems, mechanical 
problems — met and solved them all. The Ameri- 
can Eagle has certainly got a right to scream.” 

And their enthusiasm for the American Eagle 
grew with every hour that passed, after they 
drew up to the docks and went ashore. Every- 
where there were evidences of thrift and prog- 
ress and law and order, to be seen nowhere else 
in Central or South America. After the slovenly 


THE GREAT CANAL 


89 

towns and cities of Mexico, it was refreshing to 
note the contrast. For five miles on either side 
of the canal — the Canal Zone — it was United 
States Territory. From being the abode of fever 
and pestilence, it had been transformed into one 
of the healthiest places in the world. Mosqui- 
toes had been exterminated and the dreaded 
scourge of “ Yellow Jack ” wiped out completely. 
It was a cosmopolitan district, where all the na- 
tions of the world met together and all classes 
were to be found, from the highest to the lowest. 
But over this mixed and often turbulent popula- 
tion, the civil and military arms of the United 
States, ruled with such strength and wisdom, as 
to make it a model for the world’s imitation. 
The city was bright, clean, animated, abound- 
ing in amusements and diversions ; but lawlessness 
and disorder were unsparingly repressed. The 
boys were delighted at the novelty of what they 
saw and heard, and it was late when they went to 
their rooms, with an eager anticipation of all 
that awaited them on their trip across the isth- 
mus. 

For this trip from end to end of the canal 
was one of the most cherished features of their 
general plan. They wanted to study it at their 
leisure — the dams, the locks, the gates, the lakes, 
the feeders, the spillways, the tractions — the thou- 
sand and one things that made it the marvel of 


90 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


the twentieth century. And they vowed to them- 
selves that what their eyes did not take in would 
not be worth seeing. 

Colon, itself, held them for two more days, 
and during that time they lost one of their party. 
Wah Lee — for that they had discovered to be 
their Chinaman’s name — had justified his state- 
ment that he had “ fiends in Panama.” They 
had rather suspected that these alleged friends 
resembled the mythical Mrs. Harris, whose chief 
claim to fame was that “ there wasn’t no such 
person.” They were agreeably surprised, there- 
fore, when, before they had been twenty-four 
hours in the city, he told them that, through one 
of his “ fiends,” he had found employment in the 
household of a wealthy Japanese residing in the 
suburbs. He would have gladly stayed with the 
boys, to whom he had become greatly attached. 
But although they were fond of him, and got a 
good deal of amusement from his quaint ways, 
they had really no need of him, and he was a 
clog on their freedom of movement. They 
wanted to be footloose — to go where they pleased 
and when they pleased — and they were glad to 
learn that he was so well provided for. 

“ Me dome and slee you melly times,” he 
assured them, benignantly. 

“ Sure thing, old boy,” answered Tom. 
“We’re always glad to see you.” 


THE GREAT CANAL 


91 


“ Me play you back,” said Wah Lee. 

“ Pay back nothing,” responded Bert. “ You 
don’t owe us anything. You’ve worked your 
passage, all right.” 

“ Me play you back,” he repeated, as calmly 
as though they had not protested, and pattered 
off, after including them all in his irresistible 
smile. 

“ And he will,” affirmed Dick, despairingly. 
“ We’re just clay in the hands of the potter, when 
we come up against that old heathen. If he says 
he’ll pay you back, paid back you’ll be, as surely 
as my name is Dick Trent.” 

Which proved to be true enough, although the 
payment was made in different coin and in an- 
other fashion than they dreamed of at the rn'o- 
ment. 

Two days later, bright and early they took the 
train on the little railroad that runs from Colon 
to Panama. Their first stop was to be at the 
Gatun Dam and Locks, the mightiest structure 
of its kind in the world. 

As they came in sight of it, the boys gasped 
in amazement and admiration. What they had 
read about it in cold type, had utterly failed to 
give them an adequate idea of the reality. Here 
was a work that might have been hammered out 
by Thor. There were the mighty gates, weigh- 
ing each, from three hundred to six hundred tons. 


92 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


The locks each had four gates, seven feet thick 
and from forty-seven to seventy-nine feet high. 
The gates were operated by electricity and open 
or shut in less than two minutes, and absolutely 
without noise. 

In these locks were three chambers, lower, mid- 
dle and upper. Each was a thousand feet long, 
one hundred and ten feet wide and eighty-one 
feet deep. As the vessel enters the lower cham- 
ber, it finds there a depth of over forty feet. 
The gate is closed and the water pours in, lift- 
ing the vessel as it rises. In fifteen minutes, the 
water rises over twenty-eight feet. Now the ship 
has reached the middle chamber, and again the 
gates are closed and the process repeated. The 
upper chamber is the last stage, and then the ves- 
sel reaches the artificial lake of Gatum. It has 
climbed eighty-five feet in about ninety minutes. 

“Just like climbing a flight of stairs,” ex- 
claimed Dick. 

“ Precisely,” said Bert. “ Where a train 
climbs a mountain by a steady grade, the vessel 
leaps up to the top in three jumps.” 

“ Think of trying to lift one of those enor- 
mous vessels with a derrick or a crane,” mur- 
mured Tom; “ and yet how gently and easily the 
water does it by pushing up from underneath.” 

“ Look at the width of those concrete walls,” 
pointed Bert. “ Fifty-two feet thick! ” 

“ Well, twenty-five million dollars will do a lot, 


THE GREAT CANAL 


93 


and IVe read that it cost that much for these 
locks alone. And that’s only a fraction of the 
entire work.” 

At every turn, they came across something that 
evoked their wonder and admiration. Most of 
the figures and statistics connected with the colos- 
sal work they were already familiar with, but the 
information thus gained was, in a certain sense, 
hazy and unreal. It was seen through the mirage 
of distance, and not until their eyes actually saw 
the work in course of construction, did the 
knowledge lying in their minds, take a sharp and 
clearly cut outline. 

As they moved about the dam, they came in 
contact with many of the engineers connected with 
the work. These were picked men, Americans 
like themselves, and of the very highest class of 
skilled engineers. They were glad to meet the 
young fellows from the States — “ God’s country,” 
as they named it to themselves, in moments of 
homesickness — and the intelligent interest of the 
boys, in marked contrast to many of the “ fool 
questions ” put to them by the general run of 
tourists, made them eager to impart to them all 
they wanted to know. They grew “ chummy ” at 
once, and by the time the boys had spent a half 
a day in their inspection, they knew more about 
it than they would have gained in a month of 
reading. 

Among other things, they learned: that the locks 


94 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


were the greatest reinforced concrete structure 
in the world. They had been built in sections, 
thirty-six feet long, and these had been joined 
together so as to make one gigantic rock, thirty- 
five hundred feet long and three hundred and 
eighty-four feet wide. This reached down fifty 
feet under tide, and towered one hundred and 
fifteen feet above the level of the sea. The con- 
crete necessary was brought in barges that if 
strung along in one tow would have stretched 
from Colon to the southern coast of the United 
States, a distance of fifteen hundred miles. Great 
masses of steel were first erected, and then the 
concrete was poured into these by giant mixers. 

The wall at the west wing held back the waters 
of the Chagres River. This was allowed to 
spread out into a lake, covering nearly two hun- 
dred square miles, at a level of eighty-seven feet. 
From this the water was drawn to feed the locks, 
and even in the dryest season would prove suffi- 
cient for that purpose. 

Then there was the great spillway, in the hill 
that forms part of Gatun Dam. Here one hun- 
dred and forty thousand cubic feet of water can 
be discharged every second. The waters made a 
magnificent picture as they poured through the 
gates. As Dick remarked, it was “ an abridged 
edition of Niagara Falls.” At the east of the 
spillway, was the power plant, where the water, 


THE GREAT CANAL 


95 


dropping seventy-five feet, developed enough elec- 
tric power and light to operate the canal from 
end to end. 

At Bohio, the southern end of Gatun Lake, 
they came to the place where the canal enters the 
foothills of the mountain range. Up to this 
point, there had been but little digging, but here 
the real work of excavation had begun. The 
earth and rock that had to be removed here was 
equal to that involved in cutting a ditch across 
the United States, ten feet deep and fifty-five 
feet wide. The dirt would load a train that 
reached four times around the earth. 

“ Only a little matter of a hundred thousand 
miles,’’ exclaimed Tom. “ Gee, these figures are 
enough to make your head ache. Everything is 
in thousands and hundreds of thousands and mil- 
lions.” 

“Yes,” said Bert, “it’s simply inconceivable. 
We mention figures, but we can’t really grasp 
what they mean. It seems like the work of 
giants, rather than men.” 

“ Right you are,” assented Dick. “ Why, even 
the blast holes drilled for the dynamite, if put 
together, would stretch from New York to Phila- 
delphia.” 

At the great Culebra Cut, where at one point 
the depth was over four hundred feet, the won- 
der grew. Twenty million pounds of dynamite 


96 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

had been used in this cut and the cost of the 
excavation was over eighty millions of dollars. 
Yet with such care and skill had this been man- 
aged that very few men had lost their lives; not 
as many as are killed in the erection of an ordi- 
nary office building in New York. 

And here, at Culebra, the problem had been 
harder to solve than anywhere else. There had 
been enormous landslides, that made it necessary 
to do the work over and over again. Twenty- 
one million cubic yards of earth had fallen from 
the mountain side, in many cases covering the 
engines and shovels engaged in the work of ex- 
cavation. One slide involved sixty-three acres. 
At another place, forty-seven acres moved en- 
tirely across the Canal at the rate of fourteen 
feet a day, and rose at one point to a height of 
thirty feet. Over twenty times, these avalanches 
came down the sides of the cut. It seemed as 
though Nature were angered at the attempts of 
man to change what she had ordained, and were 
determined to drive him to despair. But the 
attempts were renewed with dogged persistence, 
and now the course of the Canal had been fully 
protected, and baffled Nature could rage in vain. 
It was heart-breaking work, but when Uncle Sam 
puts his hand to the plough, he doesn’t turn back. 
Science and pluck, working hand in hand with 
splendid audacity, had come out triumphant. 


THE GREAT CANAL 


97 


Part of the excavation had been made by hy- 
draulic action. Where the ground was soft, tre- 
mendous streams " of water played upon the 
banks, washing the dirt away. In other sections, 
there were enormous steam shovels, some of 
them weighing ninety-five tons, and scooping up 
the earth, a carload at a time. 

“ Nice little toys,” remarked Dick, as he gazed 
into the maw of one of them. 

“ Right you are,” responded Bert, “ but they’re 
toys that only giants can play with.” 

On the third day of their trip, they reached 
the Pedro Miguel Locks, forty miles from the 
Atlantic. In its general features, it was pat- 
terned after those at Gatun. Here, the vessel, 
which had been sailing along at a height of 
eighty-five feet above sea level after it left 
Gatun, would begin to drop toward the Pacific. 
It would descend thirty feet, then sail across an 
artificial lake for a mile and ‘a half, until it 
reached the Miraflores Locks, the last place 
where it would be halted on its trip to the West- 
ern Ocean. Here there were two chambers, each 
lowering the ship twenty-seven and a half feet, 
making a drop of fifty-five feet in all. From 
there, for a distance of eight miles, it would 
pass through a channel, five hundred feet wide 
and forty-five deep, until at last it reached the 
sea. 


98 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

And now the whole stupendous plan lay before 
them as clear as crystal. As in a panorama, they 
saw the vessel, as it left the Atlantic and pre- 
pared to climb the backbone of the continent. It 
would come up the Bay of Limon to the entrance 
of the Canal, and there the sailing craft would 
fold its wings, the liner would shut off steam. 
On the wide expanse of Gatun Lake they would 
again proceed under their own power. Through 
the Canal proper they would be drawn by elec- 
tric traction engines, running upon the walls. At 
Gatun, they would climb, by three successive 
steps, to a point eighty-five feet above sea level. 
Crossing Gatun Lake, they would pass through 
the Culebra Cut to the Pedro Miguel Locks. A 
downward jump of thirty feet here, another of 
fifty-five feet at the Miraflores Locks, a level 
sail for eight miles more, and they would emerge 
on the broad bosom of the Pacific. Then the 
sails would be broken out, the engines begin to 
throb, and away to the western coast or Manila, 
or Australia, or China and Japan. The dream 
of four hundred years would have become a 
glorious reality. 

In ten hours, the largest steamship could ride 
In safety from ocean to ocean. The distance 
from New York to San Francisco by sea would 
be shortened by over nine thousand miles. Liver- 
pool would be brought seven thousand miles 


THE GREAT CANAL 


99 


nearer the Pacific Slope. From New York to 
Manila, five thousand miles were saved. The 
commercial supremacy of the sea would be taken 
from the maritime nations of Europe and put in 
the hands of the United States. That shining 
strip of water, fifty miles in length, would prove 
the “ path of empire,” and mark a peaceful revo- 
lution in the history of the world. 

“ And it’s time that we came into our own 
again,” declared Bert, as, their trip finished, 
they sat on the veranda of the hotel at Colon. 
“ Eighty years ago, our flag was to be found on 
every sea. But weVe been so busy with our in- 
ternal development that we’ve let the control of 
the ocean pass into the hands of others, especially 
England. It’s a burning shame that most of our 
commerce is carried in English ships. I hope 
that, now the Canal is ready for use, there’ll be 
a big upbuilding of our merchant marine, and 
that it’ll be no longer true that ‘ Britannia rules 
the waves.’ ” 

“ I think that the British already see the hand- 
writing on the wall,” remarked Dick. “ Perhaps 
that explains their unwillingness to take part in 
the San Francisco Exposition. They’ve made a 
big fuss because we don’t make our coastwise 
vessels pay any tolls for going through the Canal. 
But I think the real reason lies deeper than 
that.” 


100 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


“ Germany and Russia are none too cordial, 
either, I notice,’’ said Tom. “When you come 
to think of it, we haven’t many friends in Europe, 
anyway.” 

“No,” mused Bert. “About the only real 
friend that we have over there is France. As a 
rule, she’s been on pretty good terms with us, ever 
since she helped us in our Revolutionary War. 
We had a little scrap with her on the sea, once, 
and we had to warn her to get out of Mexico, 
when she tried to back up Maximilian there. But 
our republican form of government appeals to 
her, and, on the whole, she likes us. 

“ But Russia feels a little sore, because she 
thinks we sympathized with Japan in her recent 
war. And Germany has always kicked like a 
steer about our Monroe Doctrine. If she felt 
strong enough, she’d knock that doctrine into a 
cocked hat. She wants to expand, to establish 
colonies for her surplus population. She’s espe- 
cially keen on getting into Brazil. But wherever 
she turns, she finds the Monroe Doctrine block- 
ing her way. She says it isn’t fair; it isn’t reason- 
able; it isn’t based on international law.” 

“Well, isn’t she right?” asked Tom. “It’s 
always seemed rather nervy to me, for us to say 
that no other power shall acquire territory in 
North or South America. By what right do we 
say so? ” 


THE GREAT CANAL 


lOI 


“ By no right at all,” admitted Bert. “ We 
fall back on the law of self-preservation. We’ve 
simply figured out that we want to keep the ocean 
between us and the nations of Europe. Other- 
wise, we’d have to keep an enormous standing 
army. If they had territory near by, where they 
could drill and recruit and establish food and 
coal depots, so as to be ready to attack us sud- 
denly, we’d be on edge all the time. As it is, we 
can go to sleep nights, without any fear of find- 
ing the enemy In our backyard the next morning 
when we look out of the window.” 

“ Well,” remarked a Californian, named Alli- 
son, whose acquaintance they had recently made, 
and who now drew his chair nearer and joined 
in the conversation; “we don’t need to worry 
about Europe. The real enemy lies In another 
direction.” And he pointed toward Asia. 

“You mean Japan?” queried Bert. 

“ Exactly,” was the answer. 

“Aren’t you California people a little daffy 
on the Japanese question?” chaffed Dick. 

“ Not a bit of It,” replied Allison, with marked 
emphasis. “ As sure as you’re alive, there’s going 
to be a tremendous fight between Japan and the 
United States. Just when It’s coming, I don’t 
know. But that It is coming, I haven’t the slight- 
est shadow of a doubt. I’d stake my life upon 
it.” 


102 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


His deep earnestness impressed the boys in 
spite of themselves. 

“But why?” asked Tom. “There doesn’t 
seem any real reason for bad blood between us, 
as far as I can see.” 

“ Then, too, we opened up Japan to modern 
civilization in 1859, brought her into the 
family of nations,” added Dick. “ She’s always 
professed the greatest friendship for us.” 

“ ‘ Professed,’ yes,” answered Allison, “ but, 
for some time past, those professions have 
sounded hollow. There’s the immigration prob- 
lem. There’s the Magdalena Bay concession. 
There’s the California school question and the 
alien land bill. Have you read of the mass meet- 
ings at Tokio, and the passionate harangues 
against America? Wasn’t that pretty near an 
ultimatum that the Viscount Chenda put before 
the Washington Government a little while ago? 
I tell you, gentlemen, that many a nation has been 
plunged into bloody war for reasons less than 
these.” 

“ But, after all,” objected Tom, “ if anything 
of the kind threatens, we’ll have time enough to 
see it coming, and get ready to meet it.” 

“Will we?” cried Allison. “Did the Rus- 
sians have any warning, before the Japanese 
smashed their fleet at Port Arthur? Do you 
know that for two years past, her arsenals have 


THE GREAT CANAL 


103 


been working night and day? With what object? 
When Japan is ready, she will strike as the light- 
ning strikes. She may be ready now. Perhaps 
at this very moment, her fleet may be on the way 
to San Francisco.” 

In his excitement, he half rose from his chair, 
and his voice rang out like a clarion. 


CHAPTER IX 


The Treacherous Bog 
WO days after their trip over the course of 



the Canal the three chums decided to spend 
a long day on an exploring expedition after their 
own heart. They resolved to go off early some 
fine morning on “ their own hook ” and see and 
do what pleased them best. Accordingly, they 
made all their plans, and, the night before the 
eventful day, laid in provisions for a “ bang up ” 
lunch for three. 

They procured an old alarm clock and set it 
to go off at four o’clock in the morning. This 
done, they finished discussing every detail of the 
trip, and as soon as their excitement would let 
them, fell into a sound sleep. 

It seemed to them that they had hardly laid 
their heads on the pillows when they were awak- 
ened by the strident whirring of the little sleep- 
killer, and sat up in bed yawning and rubbing 
their eyes. 

“ Good-night 1 ” exclaimed Bert. “It isn’t 
possible that it’s really time to get up. It seems 


THE TREACHEROUS BOG 105 

to me that I haven’t been asleep more than ten 
minutes.” 

“ Same here,” yawned Dick. “ I guess there 
must be something sleepy in this air. No won- 
der the natives are lazy, if they feel every morn- 
ing the way I do now.” 

“ Oh, what’s the matter with you two lemons, 
anyway?” laughed Tom. “ My private opinion, 
publicly expressed, is that you’re both just plumb 
lazy. But there’s nothing like that about me. Just 
see how lively I feel,” and to prove his assertion 
he grasped a pillow in each hand and landed 
them with fatal aim on the respective heads of 
the other two. 

“ Gee,” exclaimed Dick, as he and Bert rose 
in righteous wrath preliminary to smothering 
Tom under an avalanche of bedclothes, “ it’s a 
lucky thing you don’t feel any better than you do. 
In that case you’d probably be landing us with 
a couple of pieces of furniture.” 

“ I’d like to do that, anyway,” came Tom’s 
muffled voice from beneath the pile of pillows 
and blankets. “ For Heaven’s sake, let me up 
and quit stepping on my head.” 

Thus adjured, Bert and Dick released their 
victim, and after what looked like a miniature 
earthquake among the pile of things on the floor 
Tom emerged, very red in the face. 

“That’s a swell way to start the day, Isn’t 


io6 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

it? ” he protested in an injured tone. “ Two min- 
utes more of that and Pd have smothered, sure. 
If you want to murder me, why don’t you do it 
in a less painful manner? ” 

“Hush, my son,” said Dick. “Who started 
it? Never start anything you can’t finish, my 
boy.” 

With this piece of good advice Dick started 
dressing, and the others followed suit. After 
this they made up the lunch, eating a sandwich 
now and then by way of breakfast. There was 
nothing fancy in the way in which the sandwiches 
were thrown together, and the mothers of the 
three boys would no doubt have been horrified 
could they have seen it. However, “ everything 
went,” as Bert expressed it, and in a very short 
time they had their packing done and were ready 
to start. 

They slipped as silently as possible through the 
corridors, and in less time than it takes to tell 
were in the outer air. It was still very early, and 
the hot sun was not yet high enough to dissipate 
the heavy mist that hung close over the ground. 
They knew this would not last long, however, so 
started out on their expedition at a round gait. 

They had resolved beforehand to strike into 
the wild country bordering the path of the big 
ditch, and see it “ at first hand,” as Dick phrased 
it. Each had a rifle with him, and they expected 


THE TREACHEROUS BOG 


107 


to bag some small game if opportunity should 
offer, with which to supplement their lunch. 

The country immediately bordering the Canal 
at this point was rather barren and rocky, but at 
no great distance a thick tropical jungle sprang 
up, and it was into this that the boys resolved 
to go. Accordingly they picked their way over 
the rough flat, perhaps two miles in width, which 
lay between them and the line of green jungle. 

The going was very rough, and it took them 
almost an hour to reach the trees. Everything 
has an end, however, and in due time they found 
themselves at the edge of the fringe of trees that 
stood out a little way from the main forest. 
These were soon passed, and the comrades en- 
tered the green gloom of the big tropic trees. 
Their trunks shot up thirty or forty feet before 
the branches sprang out, and were thickly encir- 
cled by clinging vines and plants. 

The leaves in many places met overhead, and 
caused a perpetual twilight in the forest aisles. 
As the boys penetrated deeper and deeper toward 
the heart of the woods the underbrush and vines 
grew continually thicker, and in many places they 
found their progress stopped by some tangled 
growth and were forced to cut it away before 
they could proceed. It grew hotter and hotter, 
too, with a damp, clammy heat that at last be- 
came almost unbearable. 


io8 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

“ Great Scott I ” burst out Dick, at last, while 
they were cutting through a particularly tough 
growth of vines and creepers. “ I think this is 
about the hardest work I ever did in my life. 
What you need to make a path in this blooming 
jungle is a carload of dynamite — not merely a 
few little toad-stickers like these we’re using.” 

“ Well, as we haven’t the dynamite handy, I 
suppose we’ll have to make the best of the ‘ toad- 
stickers,’ ” laughed Bert, amused by his compan- 
ion’s rueful countenance. “You didn’t expect to 
find a macadamized road running through this 
little strip of woodland, did you?” 

“ No, but I didn’t expect to find vines made of 
cast iron, either,” replied Dick. 

“Never mind, old scout,” said Bert, “this 
can’t last long. We’re certain to hit on a game 
trail sooner or later, and then we’ll be in clover. 
And the harder we work now, the sooner we’ll 
find it.” 

“ Oh, well, here goes,” responded Dick, and 
fell to with renewed vigor. 

Before very long it turned out as Bert had 
predicted. After cutting through a particularly 
dense thicket, they had not gone far when they 
stumbled on a narrow but clearly defined trail 
that ran in a southeasterly direction. 

“Eureka!” exclaimed Tom, as this welcome 
sight met their eyes, “ it will be plain sailing from 


THE TREACHEROUS BOG 109 

now on, and we ought to be able to get some- 
where.” 

“ We don’t know where we’re going, but we’re 
on the way,” sang Bert. “ Forward, march, fel- 
lows. Christopher Columbus had nothing on us 
as discoverers.” 

“ Righto,” agreed his companions, and they 
set forth along the narrow path at a brisk pace. 

There were traces of game in plenty, but they 
were unable to catch a glimpse of anything that 
might give them a chance to exercise their marks- 
manship. Of course, the trees were full of mon- 
keys and parrots, but they had no wish to kill 
merely for the sake of killing, and were resolved 
to shoot nothing that they could not use as food. 

No game made its appearance, and the boys 
were looking around for a site on which they 
could pitch camp, when they were suddenly star- 
tled by a distant shout. 

“ Help, help ! ” came the cry, evidently at some 
distance from them. In spite of this, the three 
adventurers had no difficulty in recognizing the 
note of terror in it, and after one look at each 
other started off at a dead run in the direction 
of the cries. Running, tripping, stumbling, pick- 
ing themselves up and racing on again harder 
than ever, it was not long before the shouts for 
help were appreciably nearer, and Bert, with 
>vhat breath was left him, shouted back. Tom 


no 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


and Dick followed suit, and it became evident the 
person in distress, whoever it might be, had heard 
them, for his shouts ceased. 

Suddenly Bert, who was a little in advance of 
the others, pulled himself up abruptly, and 
glanced down at the ground. “ Easy there, fel- 
lows,” he cautioned, between gasps for breath. 
“ It looks as though we’d struck the edge of a 
bog, and now we’d better make haste slowly.” 

“ You’re right,” exclaimed Dick, after they 
had taken a few cautious steps forward. “ It 
keeps getting softer and softer, and I think we’d 
better look around for some path. We’ll be 
bogged in another hundred feet.” 

“ Well, we might as well let whoever it is 
we’re going after know we’re still on the job,” 
said Tom, and forthwith he gave vent to a whoop 
that sent a cloud of wild birds soaring up from 
the reeds by which they were now surrounded. 

His shout was answered by another from the 
unknown, and Tom yelled, “ Don’t give up, we’ll 
get to you as soon as we can. What’s the matter, 
are you stuck in the swamp? ” 

“Yes,” called the other, “and I’m getting 
deeper every minute. Follow the edge of the 
swamp a few hundred yards toward the west, 
and you’ll find the path that I wandered from. 
But hurry up, or I’m a goner.” 

“ All right,” sang out Bert, and the three hur- 


THE TREACHEROUS BOG 


III 


riedly skirted the bog in the direction which its 
unfortunate victim had indicated. Sure enough, 
in a few minutes they reached a spot where the 
reeds thinned out considerably, and they could see 
the stranger. He was almost up to his shoulders 
in the soft, sticky mud, but when he caught sight 
of his would-be rescuers, he waved a hand to 
them feebly. 

“ Step lively, boys,” he implored, “ I’m almost 
done for. I won’t be able to last long. The 
further I sink the faster, and this muck will soon 
be over my head.” 

The three comrades held a hurried consulta- 
tion as to the best means they could employ to 
effect the man’s release. 

“ Let’s buckle our belts together,” suggested 
Bert, hastily divesting himself of his. “ Maybe 
we can pull him out that way.” 

This was no sooner said than done, and in a 
twinkling the three stout belts were fastened to- 
gether. Then, following the captive’s direction, 
they ventured gingerly out on the narrow path, 
composed of quaking tufts of soft earth that led 
into and presumably across the swamp. Soon 
they were within ten feet or so of the unfortu-* 
nate, who proved to be a well built man of middle 
age. They threw him the end of the improvised 
rope, which he grasped desperately. Then they 
bent their united efforts to pulling him out of the 


1 12 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


clinging mire. Pull as they might, however, they 
were hardly able to move him, as they could get 
no purchase on the soft ground, and only began 
to sink in themselves. It was with difficulty that, 
after giving over this attempt as hopeless, they 
managed to scramble back to solid ground. 

“ Don’t give up, boys,” pleaded the unhappy 
man. “ You’re not going to let me die here, are 
you? ” 

“ Don’t worry about our de^serting you,” said 
Bert. “ We’re going to get you out of this, but 
we’ve got to figure out how. Can you think of 
anything? ” 

“ You might run back to where the underbrush 
starts and bring back a lot of it,” suggested he. 
“ I might be able to support myself that way 
while you went for help.” 

“ That’s a good idea,” exclaimed Bert, and in 
accordance with the suggestion they raced back 
to the jungle and soon returned, each bearing a 
large bundle of underbrush. This they threw into 
the swamp in such a way that the man could rest 
his arms on it. Then they waited expectantly to 
see if this would “ turn the trick.” 

At first it seemed that the plan would prove 
successful, but before long it became apparent 
that the man was still sinking, although more 
slowly than before. The brush only served to 
defer his fate. 


THE TREACHEROUS BOG 


113 

“ Hang it all! ” exclaimed Bert, as he realized 
this fact, “ there’s nothing we can do here alone. 
What we need is planks, and ropes, and tools. 
The only thing I can see is for us to hustle back 
to camp and get help.” 

“ The sooner the better, I guess,” agreed Dick, 
soberly, and accordingly they explained their in- 
tentions to the man in the bog. 

“ How far have you got to go?” inquired the 
latter, and when they told him he groaned. 

“You’ll never get back in time,” he said, “ but 
I guess it’s the only thing left to do. Only, one 
of you please stay here with me. If I’ve got to 
die. I’d rather not die alone.” 

“ Oh, quit that talk about dying,” exclaimed 
Bert, although in his heart he had little hope. 
But the three comrades were resolved to employ 
every means, however desperate, for the stranger’s 
release. 

They held a brief consultation. 

“You and Tom had better go, Dick,” said 
Bert. “ I’ll stay here and do all I can to keep 
this poor fellow alive, but it’s a long trip and I’m 
afraid there’s not much chance for him.” 

So Tom and Dick set off at a brisk trot, and 
Bert began to talk with the unfortunate man with 
the idea of getting his mind as much as possible 
off his predicament. It developed that he was an 
engineer connected with the Canal, who had gone 


1 14 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

for a day’s hunting in the jungle. He had lost his 
way, and had been forced to make camp over 
night. Early the next morning he had set out, 
and when he had reached the swamp had at- 
tempted to cross it by way of a path that a native 
guide had pointed out to him as being a short cut, 
on a previous trip. He had taken two or three 
steps off the path before he realized it, and then, 
when he had attempted to return, had found him- 
self held fast in the treacherous mire. All his 
efforts to escape had only resulted in his sinking 
deeper and deeper, and finally he had ceased 
struggling. Then he began to shout at intervals, 
in the faint hope of someone being within earshot, 
and, as we have seen, brought the three boys to 
his aid. 

While the man had been talking, Bert’s mind 
had been busy with a hundred plans for helping 
him, which, however, he was forced to abandon 
one after the other. It wrung his heart to see 
the poor wretch slowly sinking in the filthy mud, 
and to feel his own absolute inability to help him. 
By this time, the stranger was in the mire up to 
his chin, the underbrush which the boys had cut 
for him having gradually been pulled under. 

Almost imperceptibly, but none the less surely, 
he sank, and Bert tore his hair and paced wildly 
up and down the bank, wrung by pity for the 
doomed man. At last the latter smiled weakly. 


THE TREACHEROUS BOG 


115 

and said, “ Well, good-bye, my boy. You and 
your pals did your best, but I’m done for now. 
Hartley’s my name, and tell the boys back at the 
camp that I died game, anyway. Tell them ” 

But at this point Bert dashed madly away, pull- 
ing his sharp hunting knife from its sheath as he 
ran. He plunged into a thick clump of reeds on 
the edge of the swamp, and hastily cut an un- 
usually long and tough one. He put it to his lips 
and blew through it, assuring himself that it was 
hollow. Then he rushed madly back to the place 
where the engineer was immersed. Nor was he 
a minute too soon. 

The man had sunk until the mud was at his 
very lips, and in another few moments it would 
inevitably close over his mouth and nostrils. Bert 
dashed out on the quaking path, careless of his 
own danger, and in a few words explained his 
plan to the engineer. The latter’s eyes lighted up 
with hope, and expressed the thanks he had no 
time to utter. 

Bert got as near him as he could, and thrust 
one end of the reed into Hartley’s mouth. His 
teeth and lips closed tightly about it. 

“ There you are,” exclaimed Bert, exultantly. 
“ Now you can breathe through that reed until 
help comes from camp, and then we’ll get you out 
if we have to drain the swamp to do it. I’ll stay 
right here till they come, and the reed will mark 


ii6 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


your position. Keep up hope and you’ll be all 
right yet.” 

His eloquent eyes told Bert that he understood, 
and now there was nothing to do but sit down and 
wait for the expected help to arrive from camp. 
He knew that this would not be for some time yet, 
and his only hope was that the man in the swamp 
would not sink deeper than the length of the reed. 

He sank very slowly now, but none the less 
surely, and gradually the mud covered his mouth 
— his nostrils — his eyes — and at length his head 
sank beneath the surface. The smooth mire 
closed over the place where he had been, and the 
slender reed was all that remained to connect him 
with the living, pulsing world about. 

At the thought of the horrible death the engi- 
neer would now have suffered without the aid of 
that frail thing Bert shuddered, and thanked 
Heaven for the inspiration. 

The seething tropic life went on without inter- 
ruption, as Bert sat on the edge of the swamp 
with his eyes fastened on the reed. From the 
jungle back of him came the myriad cries of the 
wild things: the chatter of monkeys, the screams 
of the gaily colored parrots, and, once, the dis- 
tant yell of a mountain lion. 

The tropic sun beat down with ever-increasing 
intensity as it neared the zenith, and Bert felt an 
awful oppression stealing over him. After the 


THE TREACHEROUS BOG 


117 


first flush of triumph over cheating the bog, at 
least temporarily, of its victim, a rush of doubts 
and fears came over him. Could the engineer 
retain consciousness, immersed as he was in the 
vile, sticky mud? Would he not give up, and 
release his hold on the precious reed? These 
and a thousand other misgivings tortured Bert as 
he watched the reed and waited for the expected 
reinforcements. The minutes seemed hours, and 
when he looked at his watch he was astonished to 
find it was not yet noon. 

At length his weary vigil was broken by a dis- 
tant shout, which he recognized as Tom’s. All 
his fears vanished at the prospect of immediate 
action, and he raised a great shout in return. In 
a few moments he could hear the noise occasioned 
by the passage of a considerable body of men, and 
soon the rescuing party hove in sight. This con- 
sisted of several of the camp engineers and fore- 
men, together with eight or ten husky laborers. 
Everybody, including Tom and Dick, carried 
shovels and ropes, and some of the laborers bore 
long, wide planks on their shoulders. 

Dick and Tom rushed forward, followed by 
the others, but stopped short when they looked at 
the treacherous swamp and saw no sign of the 
engineer. Their faces paled, and Dick exclaimed, 
“Too late, are we? We did our best, but we’ve 
got here too late.” 


ii8 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


Grief was written on every face, but this was 
soon dispelled when Bert exclaimed, briskly, 
“ Too late nothing. He’s under the swamp, to 
be sure, but he’s breathing through the reed you 
see sticking up there,” and he pointed out to them 
this slender barrier between life and death. 

“ Well, I’ll be hanged,” muttered one of the 
rescuing party, “ how in the world did he ever 
come to think of that, I wonder? ” 

“ Never mind how I came to think of itl ” ex- 
claimed Bert, “ the thing is now to get him out. 
I’ve been watching that reed, and I don’t believe 
he’s more than ten inches or a foot below the sur- 
face. I feared he’d be a good deal deeper by 
this time.” 

Accordingly the rescuing party fell to with fev- 
erish haste, and began constructing a sort of 
boxed-in raft about eight feet square. This would 
support several people on the shaky surface of 
the bog, and it would give them a place to work 
on while attempting to extract Hartley. 

In the meantime, what had been the sensa- 
tions of the unfortunate engineer? As the thick 
mud slowly closed over his head he held the reed 
tightly between his lips, and had little difficulty in 
breathing through it. The mud was warm, and 
strange to say, he had a feeling almost of comfort 
as he sank beneath it. Soon he felt an almost 
overpowering desire to sleep. He knew, how- 


THE TREACHEROUS BOG 119 

ever, that if he yielded to this he would lose his 
hold on the reed, and so fought off the perilous 
drowsiness. 

Before very long he felt something hard under 
his feet, and was conscious that he was no longer 
sinking. At first he was at a loss to know what 
had stopped his downward progress, but at last 
decided he must have come to rest on a sunken 
stump. This theory was confirmed when he felt 
around, first with one foot and then with the 
other, and found that on all sides of him there was 
only soft mud. But the stump beneath him re- 
newed his hope. 

Above ground the rescuing party was plying 
its saws and hammers to good effect, and in an 
incredibly short time had finished the rough raft. 
This done they spread the remaining planks along 
the so-called path leading into the swamp, and 
prepared to launch their “ mud boat,” as Tom 
styled It. 

The rude affair was hoisted up on the brawny 
shoulders of the laborers, and they carried it into 
the swamp, treading very gingerly on the narrow, 
quaking pathway. They “ launched ” it at a spot 
as near as possible to the reed, and it was evident 
that it would give them an ample base from which 
to conduct their operations. 

Stout ropes were then brought, and one of the 
engineers reached down into the soft mud directly 


120 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


under the spot where the reed disappeared. 
Quickly drawing his hand up, he exclaimed, “ I 
touched him easily that time 1 Give me the rope, 
and I think I can reach down far enough to get 
it under his arms.” 

The rope was given him, and, reaching far over 
the side of the raft, he plunged his arms into the 
mud up to his shoulders. He manipulated the 
rope deftly, and soon jumped to his feet, waving 
his muddy arms. 

“ I’ve got it tied, all right,” he exclaimed. 
“ Now, men, we’ll see if wc can’t pull the poor 
fellow out.” 

Three of the laborers took hold of the rope, 
and exerted all their strength on it. Slowly, very 
slowly, inch by inch, they pulled it up, until at last, 
amid a roar of cheers from them all. Hartley’s 
head appeared above the surface of the swamp, 
the reed still held between his lips. The men 
leaned over and grasped his arms, and at last suc- 
ceeded in pulling him into the boat. 

He was a strange figure, and would hardly 
have been recognized as being a man. The thick 
mud clung to him, and made his features unrecog- 
nizable. 

^ “ Here,” exclaimed Bert, “ let’s get the mud off 
him, and accordingly the contents of several 
water bottles was dashed over his face. At last 
he was able to open his eyes and to speak. 


THE TREACHEROUS BOG 


I2I 


“ There’s no use my trying to thank you,” he 
said, addressing the little group. “ Nothing I 
can say can express my thankfulness to everybody 
here, and especially these three lads, who have 
certainly done wonders for me.” 

“ Oh, that’ all right,” said Bert, “ maybe you’ll 
have a chance to do something for us one day, 
and then we’ll be quits.” 

“ Well, that doesn’t alter matters at present,” 
replied Hartley, “ and you and your friends 
certainly did everything that could be done. I 
had just about given up hope when you happened 
along.” 

“ It’s a lucky thing for you they did. Hartley,” 
broke in one of the engineers, who had accom- 
panied the rescuing party. “Why, when these 
two lads dashed into camp and told us of your fix, 
we gave you up for lost. That reed business was 
certainly a great stunt.” 

“ No doubt about it,” agreed another, and the 
three boys were deluged with a flood of like con- 
gratulations. Then the party started back. 
Hartley pluckily declared that he could walk, 
but they overruled him, and took turns in carrying 
him on a rude litter that they had hastily knocked 
together. 

“ That fellow certainly has got wonderful 
nerve,” said Tom to Bert and Dick, and they 
heartily agreed with him. 


CHAPTER X 


A Perilous Adventure 
HE party reached the camp without further 



adventure, and Mr. Hartley was put under 
the care of the camp physician. The latter pro- 
nounced him all right with the exception of the 
shock, and the only prescription he gave was “ two 
or three days of thorough rest.’’ 

‘‘Well, that’s easy medicine to take,” said 
Hartley, with a faint smile, when he heard this 
verdict, “ but I hope you lads will come and visit 
me and help me kill time. I’m used to a pretty 
strenuous life, and time will hang awfully heavy 
on my hands if you don’t. Besides, I want to 
have a chance to express my appreciation of your 
brave conduct better than I have been able to so 
far.” 

“Well, we’ll come to see you, all right, with 
pleasure,” said Bert, “ only first we want to make 
one condition.” 

“ And what is that?” inquired the engineer. 

“ Why, that you’ll cut out saying anything 
about our ‘ brave conduct,’ ” said Bert. “ We’re 


A PERILOUS ADVENTURE 


123 


naturally modest, you see,” he added jokingly, 
“ and anything like that bothers us.” 

“Well, all right. I suppose in that case I’ll 
have to agree to your condition,” assented the 
other, reluctantly, “ but you can’t keep me from 
thinking it, anyway.” 

“ All right, then, that’s agreed, and we’ll let 
it go at that,” said Bert, with a smile, “ we’ll be 
up to see you as soon as the doctor will let us, 
won’t we, fellows? ” turning to Dick and Tom. 

Of course they were willing, so it was agreed 
that they should visit the engineer’s tent, the next 
day but one. This matter settled, the three com- 
rades took a cordial leave of Mr. Hartley, and 
made their way back to their own quarters.. Un- 
til now they had not realized how tired they were, 
but before they had gotten to their room they all 
felt as though they could scarcely keep awake. 

They managed to defer their sleep long enough 
to eat a hearty supper, however, but then “ made 
a dash for the hay,” as Tom expressed it. 

It did not take them long to get to sleep that 
night, and they were too tired even to discuss the 
exciting happenings of this eventful day. 

With the characteristic recuperative power of 
youth, however, they were up bright and early 
the next day, and all three expressed themselves 
as feeling “ as fit as a fiddle.” 

“ But just the same,” remarked Dick, “ I feel 


124 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

like loafing around to-day and taking things easy. 
Let’s go up to the stone crushing works and watch 
them. That’s my idea of the most restful thing 
in the world — to watch somebody else working.” 

“ It certainly is,” agreed Bert, with a laugh, 

“ but I’m afraid the ‘ somebody else ’ might not 
appreciate your philosophy.” 

“ Oh, that’s all right,” said Dick. “ Some time 
when I’m working, the other fellow is welcome 
to watch me, and then he’ll be getting his rest.” 

“ Huh,” remarked Tom. “ I’d hate to have 
to wait for my rest until you started laboring. 
I’m afraid I’d surely die from overwork before 
that happened.” 

“ Oh, don’t worry about your dying from over- 
work,” retorted Dick, “ that’s my idea of the last 
thing in the world to be afraid of. What do you 
think, Bert?” 

“ Oh, I don’t imagine any of us will get heart 
failure very soon from that cause,” laughed Bert, 
“ but here we are at the workings already, so 
let’s proceed to take your ‘ rest cure,’ Dick.” 

It seems hardly probable, however, that any 
invalid, suffering from “ nerves ” or some kin- 
dred disorder, would have selected this as an ideal 
place to recuperate. Everywhere the greatest ac- 
tivity was apparent, and the combined din of the 
different machines was a thing to be remembered. 
A steam shovel rattled and puffed, cement mix- 


A PERILOUS ADVENTURE 


125 

ers crashed, and compressed air drills hammered 
perseveringly at the living rock. Every once in 
a while, work would cease at some point, and 
the laborers would stand around expectantly. 

Then there would come a muffled roar from 
some exploded blast, and a cloud of rocks, dirt, 
and smoke would shoot upwards. Then the men 
would fall to again with renewed energy, the 
giant steam shovel would be set to work, and a 
few more yards of rock would be carried away. 

Thus the work proceeded without intermission, 
and the boys, although now somewhat used to 
the sights, looked on fascinated. There was 
something very wonderful and awe-inspiring about 
the whole process that held the boys spellbound. 

“ Just think of it,” said Bert, after a long si- 
lence. “ Imagine us standing maybe half a mile 
away from this canal and seeing some big ocean 
liner going through it. Why, it will look as 
though the ship were going over the solid ground.” 

“ That’s what it will, all right,” replied Dick. 
“ It’s certainly the biggest thing ever.” 

“ I should think it was,” said Tom. “ I can’t 
think of anything else that even compares with 
it.” 

“ No, neither can I,” said Bert, thoughtfully. 
“ That Is, no practicable project. Of course wild 
schemes come up now and then to change the 
earth’s course, or some other crazy idea like that. 


126 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


I remember reading of a plan like that somewhere. 
It seems its originator, whoever he was, planned 
to build a great ring of iron all around the earth 
at the equator, and then charge it with electricity. 
He figures that the immense magnetic attraction 
generated in that way would change the earth’s 
course by acting on neighboring planets. I 
haven’t much confidence in the plan, though,” and, 
as Bert said this, he looked at Tom, slily. 

“Confidence!” exclaimed Tom, with a con- 
temptuous snort. “ Why, of all the fool schemes 
I ever heard of that’s the limit. I shouldn’t think 

you’d even ” but here he caught the twinkle in 

Bert’s eye, and stopped abruptly. 

“ Ha, Ha I ” roared Dick, “ my, but you had 
Tom going that time, Bert, he thought you were in 
earnest about that.” 

“Well, why shouldn’t I think he was in earn- 
est? ” growled Tom. “ He’s pretty near foolish 
enough even to believe in a demented idea like 
that. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had.” 

“ Well, never mind, old timer,” said Bert, “ I 
put one over on you that time, though, I guess.N 
You’ll have to admit it.” 

“ Yes, I guess you did,” said Tom, “ but I’ll get 
even for that sometime. Don’t be surprised if 
you find a little rat poison in your soup some day. 
That’s the only punishment I can think of that 
would fit the crime.” 


A PERILOUS ADVENTURE 


J27 


“ Oh, that’s all right,” laughed Bert. “ If it’s 
like most rat poisons, all it will do is to make me 
fat and strong. I remember a friend of mine 
whose father was a farmer. He was telling me 
how his father scattered poison all around his 
barn in the hope of killing off a few of the pests, 
but he said that all the effect it seemed to have 
was to make them hungry, so that they ate more 
grain and feed than before. Maybe that’s the 
way it will work with me, only the comparison 
isn’t very flattering.” 

“ It isn’t, for a fact,” said Dick, “ but I hope in 
this case Tom isn’t as blood thirsty as he sounds.” 

“ Well, I might be persuaded to postpone the 
execution,” admitted Tom, with a grin. “ I’m 
always open to an offer, and a little matter of a 
five dollar bill or so would buy me off.” 

“ All right, consider yourself paid,” said Bert. 
‘‘ I’d rather owe it to you all my life than cheat 
you out of it.” 

“ Much obliged. I’m sure,” replied Tom, sar- 
castically. “ As soon as I get the five spot I’ll 
blow you both to a swell dinner.” 

“ Good night,” exclaimed Dick. “ I hope I 
don’t have to go hungry until that happens. I 
have a feeling that I’d lose considerable weight.” 

“You’ll have a long wait, that’s certain,” re- 
plied Tom, and prepared to take to his heels. 

The only indication Bert and Dick gave that 


128 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


they heard this atrocious pun was a couple of hol- 
low groans and melancholy head shakes. 

“ Poor old Tom,” mourned Dick at length, 
“poor old Tom. IVe feared for some time he 
was going off his head and now I know it. That’s 
proof beyond question.” 

“ Don’t let it turn your hair gray,” retorted 
Tom. “ As long as I don’t worry about my con- 
dition you don’t need to. But I’ll promise to be 
good and not do it again, anyway. That was a 
pretty rotten joke. I’ll have to admit.” 

“ That’s all right,” said Bert, “ we forgive you. 
I’m glad to see that you realize what a crime it 
was.” 

After this they fell to discussing the events of 
the day before, and became so interested that they 
could hardly believe it was lunch time, when the 
whistles blew and the men threw down their tools 
and prepared to take a well earned rest for a brief 
hour. 

“Well,” said Bert, glancing at his watch, “I 
guess it’s about time we hit the trail toward the 
nearest eats emporium. Now that its called to my 
attention, I begin to realize that I’m hungry.” 

The others also discovered symptoms of a 
healthy appetite, so without further loss of time 
they hurried back to their * base of supplies ’ as 
Tom put it. 

“ If we’re as hungry as this without having 


A PERILOUS ADVENTURE i^g 

done much all the morning, what would we be if 
we had been working since eight o’clock? ” queried 
Dick, and the others were unable to give him a 
satisfactory answer. 

“ I guess they’d have to stop work, owing to a 
shortage in the food supply,” said Bert, and his 
companions laughingly agreed with him. 

They made a hearty lunch, and then returned 
to the scene of the excavations. There were a 
thousand interesting things to watch, and the af- 
ternoon passed very quickly. Their attention was 
specially attracted by one giant steam shovel that 
rattled and puffed like some untiring monster. 
The engineer guiding it directed its every motion 
with a touch of one of the levers close to his 
hand, and it seemed as though the machine were 
a living creature and he its brain. The great 
scoop would drop with a roar of chains passing 
through pulleys, and then, as the main engine be- 
gan to puff, would rise slowly but with irresistible 
force. Then a pair of auxiliary cylinders mounted 
on the beam of the shovel would begin to work, 
and the big scoop with its load of dirt and rocks 
would swing around and stop over one of the 
dirt cars. The engineer’s assistant would pull a 
rope attached to the scoop, a catch would be re- 
leased, and the bottom of the scoop would swing 
open, letting the load fall into the waiting car. 
This process would be repeated again and again, 


130 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

and then, when the shovel had scooped up all the 
dirt around it, it would be moved forward a few 
feet, under its own power, to a new base of opera- 
tions. 

It seemed that its power was almost limitless, 
but at last there came a time when the boys 
thought it would meet an insurmountable obstacle. 
Close to where they sat, a big stump projected 
from the ground. Part of its gnarled and twisted 
roots was exposed, but a good deal of it was firmly 
imbedded in the earth. The steam shovel had 
worked its way along, until now it had reached a 
spot directly in front of this stump. The boys 
thought that some laborers would be sent to up- 
root it, so that the shovel could proceed, but there 
was no sign of this being done. 

“ Say I ” exclaimed Dick. “ I’ll bet any money 
they mean to uproot that stump with the shovel, 
but I don’t believe it can be done. Why, it would 
take a charge of dynamite to get that up.” 

It certainly looks pretty solid,” said Bert, 
“ but they must know what they’re doing. We 
won’t have to wait long, though, to find out. 
Look I they’re bringing the scoop up under it 
now! ” 

The three comrades watched intently as the big 
scoop dug in under the stump. As it came fairly 
up against the obstacle it slowed and almost 
stopped, and the boys caught their breaths. But 


A PERILOUS ADVENTURE 


131 

the engineer opened the throttle a trifle more, 
and the stump moved! Slowly it gave way, one 
root after another snapping off with a loud report, 
and at last was lifted clear of the ground. 

“Well, what do you know about that!” ex- 
claimed Tom. “ I thought the old steam shovel 
was up against it for fair, that time.” 

“ So did I,” said Bert, “ but it fooled us good 
and proper.” 

“ It’s such things as that steam shovel that make 
the canal possible,” said Dick, “ just Imagine the 
time It would take to dig that stuff out by the 
old method of shoveling. Why, it would take 
so long that we’d never live to see it finished.” 

“Yes, I guess you’re right,” said Bert, “and 
look at those compressed air drills working over 
there. Think how long it would take to bore out 
those holes by the old method of hammering a 
drill Into the rock. There’s no doubt, that, as you 
say, modern machinery Is the only thing respon- 
sible for this work. It’s a wonderful thing, any 
way you look at It.” 

It was Indeed a subject admitting of much 
speculation, and the boys never tired of talking 
about It. In this way the afternoon passed very 
quickly, and when work was stopped they returned 
to their quarters. 

On the way back, Bert said, “ We might as well 
make arrangements now as later, fellows, for go- 


132 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

ing to see Mr. Hartley. You know we promised 
to call on him to-morrow. What time shall we 
get there? ” 

“ Oh, I should think right after lunch would 
be about the best time, don’t you?” said Dick, 
and as there seemed to be no objection to this 
plan, they adopted it unanimously. 

They arose early the next morning, and had 
ample time to take a long walk before breakfast. 
“ Not that it’s at all necessary,” remarked Bert, 
“ I don’t very well see how any of us could have 
much better appetites than we have already.” 

“ Yes, but if we didn’t get all the exercise that 
we do, the appetites might not last very long,” 
replied Bert. 

They did not prolong their ramble long enough 
to interfere with breakfast, and got back to their 
quarters just in the nick of time. 

“Another ten minutes,” exclaimed Tom, “and 
we would have missed some of the eats. We cer- 
tainly do have close escapes from disaster at 
times.” 

“ It would certainly have been an awful calam- 
ity,” grinned Bert, “ but I think we must have 
some sixth sense that leads us back here in time 
for meals. I don’t remember that we have ever 
been late to one yet.” 

“ No, and we’re not going to be, if I can help 
it,” said Dick, and they all fell to in earnest. 


A PERILOUS ADVENTURE 


133 


Breakfast over, they selected a level spot not 
far from their quarters and had a “ catch.” Bert 
found his arm somewhat rusty, as he had not done 
any pitching to speak of for quite a while, but soon 
limbered up, and began “ shooting them over ” in 
his old time form. The morning passed quickly 
in the pursuit of this and other athletic exercises, 
and after a light luncheon the three comrades set 
out to visit Mr. Hartley in accordance with the 
plan they had formed the day before. 

It was not a long walk to the engineer’s tent, and 
they made short work of it. Needless to say, 
Mr. Hartley was more than glad to see them, and 
expressed himself cordially. 

“Sit down, sit down I” he said heartily, after 
he had shaken hands with them. “ I’ve been look- 
ing forward to this visit with great pleasure. I’m 
used to a pretty active life, and I hate to be laid 
up even for a day. The doctor tells me I’ve got 
to have a complete rest for a few days, though, 
and I suppose he knows best.” 

“ Well, the doctor isn’t always right in these 
cases,” said Bert, with a smile, “ although he prob- 
ably is in this. I remember a good joke I heard 
about that once.” 

“ Go ahead and tell it to us,” urged Mr. Hart- 
ley. 

“ Oh, it’s about an Irishman, Mike we’ll call 
him, who had been sick for a long time. At last 


134 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

the day came, when, to all appearances, he had 
finally given up the ghost, and the family physi- 
cian was called in more as a matter of form than 
anything else. He made the customary tests, and 
at last pronounced poor Mike dead. But just 
then Mike suddenly sat up in bed. ‘ You’re a 
liar, docther ! ’ he said. ‘ Oi’m not dead at all, 
at all.’ But at this point his wife stepped up. 

‘ There, there, Mike,’ she said, soothingly, ‘ lie 
down again. The doctor knows best’ ” 

There was a roar at this. 

“ Ha, ha ! ” laughed Mr. Hartley, “ that’s a 
pretty good one. That man must have held a 
large life insurance policy, I should say, judging 
by his wife’s conduct.” 

“Very likely,” grinned Bert. “But I can’t 
vouch for that.” 

Mr. Hartley then related one or two of his pet 
stories, and soon they were all on the best of 
terms. After a while the conversation drifted 
around to local topics, and the boys were much 
interested in Mr. Hartley’s description of places 
and happenings in the country bordering the “ big 
ditch.” 

“Yes, there are more curious and unheard of 
places in this little strip of country than in any 
other place I know of, comparable to it in size,” 
he said. “ Why, if a quarter of the stories the 
natives tell are true, it is a veritable wonderland. 


A PERILOUS ADVENTURE 


135 

And I think some of them are true. With my 
own eyes I have seen some of the things they talk 
about.” 

“Tell us of some of them, won’t you?” re- 
quested Bert, and the engineer seemed nothing 
loath. 

“ There is one experience in particular that 
comes to my mind,” he said, “ that I have always 
meant to follow up at the first opportunity. It 
was while quite a party of us were out hunting, 
with three of the natives as guides. It was along 
toward the beginning of operations on the canal, 
and we were held up by a delay in delivering some 
of the machinery, so had plenty of time on our 
hands. Well, as I say, we started out bright and 
early one morning, led by the three guides, who 
had brought a strange story into camp. They 
told us of a ruined city they had discovered in the 
heart of the jungle. According to them, this old 
town covered miles of territory, and was presided 
over by some demon who claimed the lives of all 
who penetrated within its boundaries. And we 
were led to give some credence to their story by 
the fact that while they agreed to guide us to the 
city, they expressly stipulated that we should not 
require them to guide us further than its boun- 
daries. They would stay outside, they said, and 
take the news of our death back to camp. They 
seemed to have no doubt that the demon would 


136 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

‘ get us,’ and you may be sure our curiosity was 
greatly excited. 

“ I and four others of the corps of construction 
engineers resolved to run this mysterious devil 
to the ground, and so, as soon as we could make 
the necessary arrangements, started out. We 
soon entered the jungle, and made steady progress. 
As far as we could judge we went almost due 
south. We traveled with hardly a stop other 
than long enough to eat, that first day, and only 
stopped when darkness made further progress 
impossible. 

“We were up bright and early the next morn- 
ing, and about noon caught our first glimpse of the 
ruined city. Way down a clearing in the jungle, 
we could see tall white pillars, many of them partly 
hidden by creeping vines. 

“ We all broke into a run, and in an hour or 
so were on the outskirts of the old city. And be- 
lieve me, my lads, at one time that had been a 
city with a capital C ! It had evidently been laid 
out in well ordered streets and squares, and every- 
where houses were bordered by the remains of 
what had been great temples and buildings. Most 
of them were on the ground, mere heaps of ruins, 
but a few were still standing, at least in part, and 
we could get a faint idea of what the old city must 
have been in those far off days of its prime. At 
present, though, it seemed to be the abode only 
of wild things. 


A PERILOUS ADVENTURE 137 

“We gazed in wonder at this sight for some 
time, and then held a pow-wow. We had a long 
discussion as to whether we should start exploring 
at once, or wait till the next morning. 

“ We finally decided on the latter plan, as, in 
spite of our boastings about wanting to shake 
hands with the presiding devil, we really had no 
great hankering to meet him after darlc. Of 
course, we none of us believed in that ‘ devil ’ busi- 
ness, but still we had no doubt that some secret 
menace hung over the old city. The guides were 
positive on this point, and as they had been right 
so far, we were inclined to give their opinions 
some consideration.” 

Here Mr. Hartley paused as though to gather 
his thoughts, and the three boys, who had been 
listening intently to his narrative, drew a deep 
breath. 

“My!” exclaimed Tom, “make out we 
wouldn’t like to have been with you then.” 

“ Yes, I daresay you would,” said Mr. Hartley, 
with a smile, as he noted the eager longing in the 
eyes of his listeners. “ I think it would have been 
an adventure after your own heart. But wait till 
you hear the rest, and you may be glad you were 
not along.” 

“ I doubt it,” said Bert, “ but go on with the 
story, if you please, Mr. Hartley.” 


CHAPTER XI 


The Deserted City 

‘‘l^ELL,” resumed Mr. Hartley, “ we made 
camp, as that appeared to be the desire 
of the majority, and turned in, as soon as we had 
eaten supper. We were all dead tired after the 
long journey, and I guess none of us were troubled 
in our sleep by thoughts of the strange ‘ spirit of 
evil ’ that ruled the city, according to the na- 
tives. It’s a lucky thing, sometimes, that you can’t 
see into the future. If we could have done so 
that night, our sleep might have been less sound. 

“We were awakened by the guides, who had 
already prepared a good breakfast for us, and 
you may be sure we all ate heartily, both because 
it tasted good and because we wanted to start out 
on our exploration in good trim. 

“ The meal despatched, we entered the ruins by 
what had apparently at one time been a great 
gate, but which now was nothing but a twisted 
heap of stone. Evidently the city had been encir- 
cled by a wall, but this had crumbled away and 
was overgrown by the tropical vegetation. 

138 


THE DESERTED CITY 


139 


“ Of course, we had to leave the guides behind 
us, as they positvely refused to pass the bound- 
aries. This didn’t cause us much worry, however, 
for we knew from experience that, when it came 
to trouble, they were of little use. 

“ The ruins lay before us apparently devoid 
of any human inhabitants. At first we didn’t 
know which way to go, but finally decided to make 
straight for what looked to have been the center 
of the town. As well as we could make out, all 
the streets seemed to converge toward that point, 
which had no doubt been the public square. 

“ We followed this plan, but as we went along 
were often tempted to alter it. More than once 
we passed some building that seemed in better 
repair than the others, and of course we wanted 
to explore it. But we thought it would be no use 
examining lesser ruins, when greater ones were 
at hand. For, as we got nearer the center of the 
town, we could see that the square was occupied 
by a building much more pretentious than any 
we had seen so far. From a distance it had 
looked merely like a jumbled mass of ruins, but 
when we at last stood before it we could see that 
such was far from being the case. 

“To be sure, the building was in a ruinous 
condition, but, probably owing to its having orig- 
inally been built in a more solid fashion even than 
its neighbors, it was in comparatively good pres- 


140 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


ervation. Even the roof appeared Intact in 
places, and we marveled as we gazed at it. Great 
columns rose tier after tier, interspersed with 
solid walls of granite, until they supported a roof 
at least eighty or a hundred feet from the ground. 
The fagade was ornamented profusely with 
carvings of men and animals, some of them very 
well done. Indeed. 

“ We realized that this building and its fel- 
lows must have been the prodliotion of some 
highly developed form of civilization, and many 
were the speculations as to who the ancient peo- 
ple could have been. 

“ But we soon got tired of looking at the out- 
side, and were all seized with a desire to explore 
the wonderful place. Its main entrance was little 
obstructed, and there was nothing to prevent our 
going in. It was as black as pitch inside, al- 
though the sun was shining brightly, and we cast 
about for some means of lighting the interior. 
We secured some resinous fagots from a great 
tree that had sprung up near by, and found that 
they burned brightly and would serve our pur- 
pose perfectly. 

“ Each one of us armed himself with one of 
these, then, and took another along In reserve. 
In this fashion we Invaded the ancient temple, 
for such we believed it to be, not without, it must 
be confessed, a rather chilly feeling In the neigh- 


THE DESERTED CITY 141 

borhood of the spine. At least, I felt that way, 
and I have no doubt the others did, too. How- 
ever, we all carried revolvers, and felt confident 
that if the mysterious ‘ demon ’ attacked us, we 
would be able to give him a sharp argument. 

“Nevertheless we kept closely together, and 
were inclined to believe firmly in the old adage 
that ‘ in numbers there is strength.’ We had no 
difficulty in climbing over the fallen blocks en- 
cumbering the entrance, and soon found ourselves 
fairly on the inside. The place had a damp, 
earthy smell, and the air was very close and 
oppressive. It was black as pitch, too, and the 
light from our improvised torches did little to 
dispel the gloom. 

“ However, it would never do to back out now, 
so we advanced cautiously, stumbling every once 
in a while over some fallen piece of masonry. 
Our footsteps rang and echoed under the great 
vault that we could hardly see, so lofty it was. 
It seemed almost sacrilege to disturb the silence 
of this building, that had probably not echoed to 
human footsteps for centuries. 

“ We kept on, nevertheless, until we were 
halted suddenly by an exclamation from one of 
the men in front. 

“ ‘ Look, look ! ’ he exclaimed, pointing with 
a trembling finger. We followed its direction, 
and I distinctly felt my hair rise on my head. 


142 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


For there, high up near the roof, two green eyes 
glared down at us with a baleful sparkle! They 
glinted and glowed, and a gasp went up from 
our little party. 

“‘By all thaPs holy, what is it?’ whispered 
Tom Bradhurst, my special friend. 

“No one answered, but we all got a tight grip 
on our revolver butts. We gazed, fascinated, at 
those two lambent points of light, fully expecting 
to come to hand grips with the ‘ demon ’ then 
and there. As nothing happened, however, we 
plucked up courage enough to advance cautiously, 
and were soon near enough to make out the cause 
of our fright. The eyes were two great emeralds 
set in the head of a colossal idol carved out of a 
great block of solid granite! The image must 
have been at least thirty feet high, and the emer- 
alds were each as large as a robin’s egg. 

“ ‘ Great Scott! ” ejaculated Bob Winters, an- 
other of our party, ‘ that thing has scared me out 
of ten years of life, and I’m going to have my 
revenge. I’m going to climb up there and get 
those emeralds, if it takes a leg. Why, there’ll 
be a fortune in them for all of us.’ 

“ We tried to dissuade him, for our nerves 
had been shaken, and we didn’t want to monkey 
with the confounded things. Bob was always a 
dare-devil chap, though, and set on having his 
own way. So he went at it, climbing nimbly up 


THE DESERTED CITY 


143 


the front of the image, until he was in a position 
to touch the great emeralds. Then he drew his 
hunting knife and commenced prying away at the 
stones to dislodge them. 

“ Suddenly he gave the most unearthly shriek 
it has ever been my lot to hear, threw his hands 
up over his head, and started sliding down the 
steep front of the statue. While the shriek yet 
rang in our ears, a great section of what had 
appeared to be solid rock flooring at the base 
of the idol opened inward, and our comrade’s 
body hurtled through the aperture and disap- 
peared from our sight. His hunting knife rattled 
on the stones at our feet, and then all was silence. 

“ If we had been standing a yard nearer the 
base of the image the whole party would have 
been dropped through the hole.” 

At this point Mr. Hartley paused in his nar- 
rative, and passed his hand over his eyes. The 
boys saw that great beads of perspiration covered 
his forehead, but they had been so absorbed in 
the story that they had not noticed this before. 
They waited breathlessly for him to resume, 
which he did after a few seconds. 

“ Well,” he continued, “ for a few seconds we 
were stricken motionless by the suddenness and 
horror of the thing. Then we gathered ourselves 
together, and rushed to the edge of the gaping 
opening. We shouted and called, and at last were 


144 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


answered by a faint moan. Then we looked into 
each other’s eyes, and knew that there was only 
one thing to do. We must go down into that 
black hole and do what we could to rescue our 
friend. 

“But how were we to accomplish this? We 
had no ropes, and the feeble light of our torches 
when we thrust them into the black opening 
failed to reveal any bottom. For this reason we 
dared not risk a drop, with almost the certainty 
of not being able to get back again. 

It looked as though we were “ up against it,” 
but finally we made a makeshift rope by tearing 
up part of our clothing into strips and tying them 
together. This made a fairly serviceable rope, 
and, after tying knots in it at intervals to facili- 
tate our descent, we lowered it into the opening. 
When we had let it out almost to the end it 
stopped swinging, so we knew it had touched 
bottom. I volunteered to go down first, and did 
so* 

“ It was ticklish business, and more than once 
I almost lost my hold. Finally, however, my 
feet touched a hard floor, and I let go. 

“ ‘ All right ! ’ I shouted to those above. 
‘ Come on down.’ 

“ ‘ Coming, old man,’ replied ‘ Brad,’ and the 
sound of his cheery voice was a great comfort to 
me. I knew he would soon be with me, and 


THE DESERTED CITY 


145 


so gave my attention to finding and helping Bob. 
I had not gone more than a few steps when I 
discovered him stretched out on the cold rock 
floor, either unconscious or dead. I soon found 
the former to be the case, to my great relief, 
and forced a few drops of whiskey from my flask 
between his teeth. 

“ By the time Bradhurst had reached my side 
I could see some signs of returning conscious- 
ness in Bob’s face, and before long he struggled 
to a sitting posture. 

‘‘ ‘ Wh — what happened, anyway?’ he asked. 

“ ‘ That’s what we’d like to know,’ said Brad. 
‘What made you fall that way. What struck 
you? ’ 

“ ‘ Something darted out of that cursed thing’s 
mouth and pierced my hand,’ replied Bob, as he 
began to regain his memory. ‘ Look at that ! ’ 
and he held his left hand out for us to see. 

“ It had been neatly punctured by some sharp 
instrument, which left a small wound not more 
than an eighth of an inch across. The hand was 
puffed and swollen, though, and the thought 
flashed across my mind that this scratch was 
probably not as trivial as it looked. I had little 
doubt that the instrument, whatever it was, had 
been poisoned, and as I stole a swift glance at 
Brad I could see that the same thought was in 
his mind. 


146 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

“ Bob never seemed to think of this possibility, 
though, and you may be sure we were careful not 
to give him an inkling of our anxiety. That 
would do no good, and our fears might be un- 
founded. 

“ While we were examining the hand, our 
companions had descended, and of course Bob 
had to repeat the cause of the accident to them. 

“ ‘ But how do you feel now, old man? ’ quer- 
ied Brad, when he had finished. 

‘ Oh, nothing extra,’ replied Bob. ‘ I seem 
to feel rather dizzy, but I suppose that’s the re- 
sult of the fall. I’m lucky not to have broken 
my neck.’ 

“ ‘ Well, anyway, it’s up to us to get out of 
this hoodooed place as soon as possible,’ I told 
them. ‘ Come along. I’ll go up first, then you 
fellows come, and we’ll haul Bob out.’ 

“ Accordingly I started up our improvised 
rope hand over hand. I had not ascended more 
than five or six feet, however, when with a slight 
r-r-ip the rope parted above my head, and I fell 
back to the stones below. Fortunately I landed 
on my feet, and so escaped with nothing worse 
than a severe shaking up. 

“ But I had small reason to be thankful, never- 
theless, for the desperate nature of our position 
was soon borne in upon me. How to get out — 
that was the question, and, when I put it up to 
my companions, they had no answer. 


THE DESERTED CITY 


147 


“ The place in which we were now imprisoned 
seemed to be a sort of tunnel. It was not more 
than fifteen feet wide, but we had no means of 
telling how long it might be. To get out the 
way we had come was evidently out of the ques- 
tion, as the roof of the tunnel was at least twenty- 
five feet above our heads. 

“‘Well, boys,’ said Bradhurst, at last, ‘the 
only thing we can do is to follow the course of 
this hole one way or the other, and try to find 
an outlet. And the sooner we start the better, 
as our torches aren’t going to last much longer.’ 

“ Here was another horror added to our situ- 
ation, which had seemed bad enough before. 
Without light, our chances of escape from the 
horrible place would be slight indeed, so we acted 
on our comrade’s advice without delay. 

“ There was apparently little choice of direc- 
tion. Our torches burned steadily, and so we 
knew there was no breeze coming from either 
direction that might point to an outlet. Our 
sense of locality was rather twisted by this time, 
but after a consultation we set out through the 
tunnel in what we believed to be the direction 
of our camp. Before we had gone far. Bob com- 
plained of wanting to sleep, and it was all we 
could do to keep him moving. I walked on one 
side of him, holding his arm, while Wryburn, 
another of the party, supported him on the other 
side. Brad walked in front, carefully scanning 


148 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

the walls of the tunnel for signs of an opening. 

“ After we had gone a considerable distance 
in this manner, we heard a faint roaring sound, 
that grew constantly louder as we pushed for- 
ward. 

“ ‘ It sounds like water,’ said Wryburn. ‘We 
must be coming to a subterranean river.’ 

“ We had little doubt that this theory was cor- 
rect, and pressed forward with renewed hope. 
At any rate, we had the assurance that the tunnel 
would not end in a blank wall, as we had feared, 
and so force us to retrace our footsteps. 

“ We were held back badly by Bob, though, 
who, by now, had become almost helpless. We 
were forced practically to carry him, and he 
seemed to have lost consciousness. 

“ All things have an end, however, and at last 
we stood on the bank of the underground river. 
It was two or three hundred feet wide, and raced 
along with a very powerful current. By this 
time you may be sure we were very thirsty, as 
well as hungry, and the cold water satisfied one 
craving if not the other. After we had drunk 
our fill we set to work dressing Bob’s wounded 
hand as well as we could, which is not saying 
much. He seemed to be in a sort of coma, from 
which we were unable to arouse him. 

“ After we had made him as comfortable as 
possible we discussed plans of escape. I was of 


THE DESERTED CITY 


149 


the opinion that our best course would be to fol- 
low the river in the hope of its emerging into the 
open at some point. There seemed to be no ob- 
jection to this from my companions, so after a 
short rest we started out. First, we improvised 
a rude stretcher for Bob, and took turns carry- 
ing it. 

“ At the spot where we had first come upon 
it, the river was edged with a little strip of coarse 
gravel, but, as we progressed, this became nar- 
rower and narrower, and the river seemed to be 
running with even greater velocity than before. 
At last the strip of beach disappeared altogether, 
and we had no choice but to enter the water. 
We splashed along wearily, and hope burned 
lower and lower in our breasts. To add to our 
troubles, our stock of torches was almost ex- 
hausted, and we were forced to burn only one 
at a time, to make them last longer. 

“ The walls between which the stream now 
ran got closer and closer together, with the re- 
sult that the water became deeper and rushed 
along with greater force. The sound of its roar- 
ing in the confined place was deafening, and 
communication with each other was out of the 
question. 

“ We had traveled perhaps three miles in this 
manner, when we suddenly noticed that the 
water seemed to be rising! Within a few min- 


150 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

utes after we had observed this, it crept up to 
above our knees, and its roaring grew perceptibly 
louder. We looked desperately about us for 
some place of refuge, but there was none. The 
stream now ran in a cavern not more than eighty 
feet wide and ten feet high, and its smooth, 
water-worn walls stretched on into the darkness 
ahead without a break. 

“ We looked at each other in dismay, as the 
water crept up, deeper and deeper. Pieces of 
wood and branches of trees were now floating 
on it, and Bradhurst said, ‘ Boys, there must be 
a heavy rain outside, and this stream is feeling 
its effects. If we don’t get to some place where 
it widens out very soon, we might as well write 
each other’s epitaphs. We’ve got to hurry like — 
listen I What was that? ’ 

“ From the blackness in back of us came a 
sudden loud, menacing roar, growing in volume 
every second. 

“‘Come on, boys, quick 1’ yelled Bradhurst, 
setting us the example by forging ahead faster 
than before. ‘ There’s a big wave coming that’ll 
fill this place up to the roof, and the Lord help 
us if it overtakes us here.’ 

“We stumbled along as fast as we could, but 
could make but slow progress, burdened as we 
were by the helpless form of our comrade. The 
water was almost to our waists, and the awful 


THE DESERTED CITY 151 

wave back of us approached with horrible rapid- 
ity. We were about ready to give up, when 
Bradhurst, who was a little in the lead, came 
ploughing back to us. 

“ ‘ Come along for your lives, boys,’ he 
shouted above the noise of the water. ‘This 
infernal hole widens out a little further on, and 
if — here, you fellows are tired out. Hustle 
along, and I’ll carry Bob.* 

“ We tried to stop him, but he paid no atten- 
tion to us, and, stooping over, lifted the uncon- 
scious form of our companion on his broad back. 
Thus relieved, we put all our ebbing strength in 
one last mad dash, pulling Brad and his burden 
along with us. At last we reached a place where 
the cavern widened, and struggled up on a strip 
of sandy beach. But we were not out of the 
water’s power yet, by any means. We knew 
that our only salvation lay in finding some refuge 
above the highest level the stream would be 
likely to reach, and so began a frantic hunt along 
the walls of the cavern. 

“ By the greatest good fortune, my eye caught 
sight of a rocky projection, quite a way up the 
side of the cave, and I yelled to my companions. 
They hurried over, and we climbed desperately 
up the rocky wall. I was the first to reach the 
platform, and I helped the others over Its edge. 
Bradhurst waited until we were all up, and then 


152 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


hoisted Bob up over his head. I leaned over as 
far as I could, and was just able to get a grip 
on the unconscious man. Assisted by the others, 

I pulled him up, and then in a twinkling we had 
Brad up, too. 

“ And not a second too soon, either. Even as 
we hauled our friend over the edge, a great 
foaming wall of water leaped out of the tunnel 
from which we had emerged not three minutes 
before, and boiled out over the floor of the cave 
in which we were. It washed against the walls, 
and we thought for a few seconds that it would 
even reach our place of refuge. It did lap up 
to within a foot of us, but then spread out more 
and subsided a little. 

“ We would have been as helpless as so many 
chips of wood if it had caught us while in the 
narrow tunnel, and we shuddered as we thought 
of our narrow escape. 

“ The ledge on which we found ourselves was 
amply supplied with driftwood, probably left 
there at the time of some former flood that had 
been even fiercer than this one. We made a fire, 
and waited for the water to subside with as much 
patience as we could muster. We knew that Bob 
would probably die unless we could get him to a 
doctor soon, and this made the waiting all the 
harder. At times he would rave in delirium, 
and at others lie so quiet that more than once 
we thought him dead. 





A great foaming wall of water leaped out of the tunnel 


^^4 
















* 





THE DESERTED CITY 


153 


“ But the water did go down after what seemed 
to us an age, but was in all probability not more 
than a few hours. We resumed our journey 
down its channel, and by great good fortune 
came at last to the place where it emerged into 
the open air. The sun was shining brightly, and 
words are inadequate to describe our joy at see- 
ing it once more. We took deep breaths of the 
warm tropical air, so grateful after the damp, 
confined atmosphere in which we had been so 
long, and thanked a kind Providence for our 
escape. 

“ We made our way back to our camp, and 
arrived just in the nick of time. Our guides had 
given us up as lost, and were much astonished 
at seeing us. After their first astonishment had 
worn off, they seemed to regard us with the great- 
est respect, which we were at a loss to account 
for at the time. We later found out that it was 
because we had been able to cheat the inexorable 
‘ devil,’ supposed to rule the old city, of his prey. 

“We returned to camp by forced marches, 
and turned Bob over to the camp physician. He 
recovered at last, all but his hand, which never 
regained its power. The natives said it was the 
‘ demon’s curse,’ and possibly they were right. 

“ At the time nothing could have hired us to 
go back to the old ruins, but lately I’ve had a 
sneaking desire to go back and finish exploring 
that old temple. Perhaps I shall, some day, and 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


154 

likely as not the devil will get me, this time. Who 
knows? ” 

Mr. Hartley ended his strange narrative with 
a smile, half serious, half comical, and his lis- 
teners drew a long breath. 

They voted it one of the most exciting tales 
they had ever heard, and besieged the engineer 
with questions as to the location of the ruined 
city. But Mr. Hartley only shook his head. 

“ No, no,” he said, and, although he smiled, 
his tone was serious. “ It would be just like you 
madcaps to undertake a journey there, and I 
don’t want to be the cause of your death. If 
you don’t mind. I’d rather not tell you.” 

Although disappointed, the boys did not press 
the matter, and after a little further discussion 
of the engineer’s story, took their departure. 

“ Just the same,” declared Bert, on their way 
home, “ I’d like nothing better than for us three 
to tackle that ‘ devil.’ I have an idea we could 
stand him on his head.” 

“ I’d like to try it, anyway,” declared Tom, 
and Dick declared himself as feeling the same 
way. 

They talked about little else that evening, and 
if, after they were asleep, they were troubled by 
nightmares, the cause was not hard to determine. 


CHAPTER XII 


Wah Lee’s Boss 


HE next few days were crowded with inci- 



dent. The city was filling up with visitors, 
to be present at the ceremonies attending the 
opening of the Canal. Many of these were 
celebrities known all over the world. Soldiers, 
admirals, diplomats, men of affairs, brushed 
shoulders with thousands less famous, but quite 
as interested in the great event so soon to take 
place. The boys were constantly meeting some- 
one whom they had known in the “ States ” ; and, 
in the renewal of old friendships and the making 
of new ones, the time flew by as though on wings. 

But, underneath all the hubbub and excitement, 
Bert was conscious of an uneasy premonition. 
He tried to analyze it, and, when unsuccessful in 
this, attempted to throw it off. Despite all his 
efforts, however, it persisted. Call it clairvoy- 
ance, call it telepathy, he felt aware of impend- 
ing danger. Some “ coming event ” was casting 
“ its shadow before.” 

Again and again the words of Allison recurred 


156 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

to him . Not that he believed in them. Although 
they had stirred him at the time with a sense of 
vague foreboding, he had dismissed them as the 
utterance of an enthusiast, who felt a deep antip- 
athy toward the Japanese, and magnified the dan- 
ger to be feared from them. Of course, it was 
absurd — that last remark of his that at that very 
moment a Japanese fleet might be on its way to 
attack the Pacific Slope. He laughed as he 
thought of it, but, somehow, the laugh did not 
ring true. 

Wah Lee had kept his word, and frequently 
called to see his friends. But his serenity seemed 
to be disturbed. He appeared troubled and dis- 
trait. At times, he acted as though he were about 
to tell them something, but was himself in doubt 
as to the value of his information, and restrained 
himself. His all-embracing smile was conspicu- 
ous by its absence. 

“ What’s bothering the old chap, I wonder,” 
ruminated Tom. 

“ Search me,” laughed Dick. “ Something on 
his conscience, maybe. Perhaps he hasn’t burned 
as many joss sticks before his particular idol as 
he feels he ought, and the failure worries him.” 

“ I’m going to get right down to brass tacks, 
the next time he comes,” said Bert, “ and get it 
out of him.” 

But the wily Celestial baflied all efforts to 


WAH LEFS BOSS 157 

“ pump ” him, and the matter passed from their 
minds. 

Two days later, however, Wah Lee shuffled 
past Bert, as the latter was sauntering down the 
main street of Colon, and, apparently by acci- 
dent, touched his arm in passing. Bert looked 
up, and, recognizing the Chinaman, started to 
speak to him. But the latter only gave him a 
swift glance from his almond eyes, and kept on, 
his face as stolid and inscrutable as that of a 
graven image. In that fleeting look, however, 
Bert’s quick perception recognized that Wah Lee 
had some object in view, and wanted to talk 
with him. With a heightened pulse, but still re- 
taining an indifferent air, he followed. 

At the first turning, the Chinaman passed into 
a side street, Bert keeping a little way in the rear. 
The houses grew more infrequent and soon they 
came to the suburbs. Still on they went, until, 
at last, they were in the open country, and free 
from observation. Then, in a remote spot, where 
they could see for a long distance on every side, 
Wah Lee stood still, and Bert ranged alongside. 

“ Well, Wah Lee,” he asked, curiously, 
“what’s the game?” 

In answer, the Chinaman drew from his 
pocket a crumpled sheet of paper, and handed it 
to Bert. He took it and smoothed it out. At 
first, it failed to convey any impression. The 


158 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

drawing was a rough one, and seemed to consist 
of a series of lines, punctured with dots. But 
gradually, as Bert gazed, his training in mechan- 
ics told him that it was a plan of some large 
structure. There were two rectangular outlines, 
that were perfectly similar, like two leaves of a 
table. No, they were gates. And then, like a 
flash, it came across him. They were the gates 
of the Gatun Locks! There was the wavy line, 
to indicate the water level, and, down below 
these, were the ominous dots. They seemed to 
be meant for holes, but his knowledge of the 
locks told him that they had no place in its struc- 
ture. What did those holes mean? 

A little shaken, he looked at Wah Lee for the 
key to the enigma. 

“ Where did you get this?” he asked. 

“ Flound it,” answered the Chinaman. “ Man 
dlop it. Man come to see my bloss. My bloss 
kill clanal,” Wah Lee repeated. 

For a moment, Bert’s head swam, and a thou- 
sand bells seemed to ring in his ears. Then he 
steadied himself, and plied the Chinaman with 
eager questions that sought to pluck the heart 
out of the mystery. Wah Lee’s knowledge of 
English was very limited, and it took a long time 
and infinite patience to get from him what he 
knew. Gradually, he pieced the bits together, 
until the whole thing became clear and coherent 
in his mind. 


WAH LEE’S BOSS 


159 

By the merest accident, Wah Lee had heard 
enough to know that the Japanese who employed 
him was engaged in a plot to destroy the Canal. 
How or when it was to be done, he did not know. 
It was doubtful if he could have grasped the de- 
tails, even if he had heard them, so full they were 
of technical matters that conveyed to him no 
meaning. But he knew that the plot existed, and 
dimly understood that this would bring pain and 
suffering to Bert. As far as he himself was con- 
cerned, a dozen canals might be destroyed, with- 
out affecting him in the least. But he held the 
boys in strong affection for having saved his life, 
and he knew that he could pay his debt, at least 
in part, by letting them know what was brewing. 

As regarded the paper, Wah Lee knew noth- 
ing, except that a white man, who spoke English, 
was a frequent visitor to his master, with whom 
he held long conferences. Only yesterday, on 
leaving the house after dark, he had accidentally 
dropped the plan, and Wah Lee, hovering near, 
had picked it up. A vague idea that it might 
be of value to Bert and prompted him to bring 
it to him. 

This was the sum of the Chinaman’s knowl- 
edge. He simply knew that his “ bloss ” was en- 
gaged in some kind of a plan to kill the Canal. 

But Bert must know more than this — the na- 
ture of the plan, the people involved in it, the 
methods empolyed for it, the time set for its 


i6o BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


execution. Then, only, could the proper steps be 
taken to thwart it. How could this knowledge 
be obtained? Not by Wah Lee. He had acci- 
dentally stumbled upon it, and while this, of 
course, was an inestimable service, abler minds 
than his must unravel the details. 

Whatever was to be done must be done quickly. 
Time was a factor of prime importance. Bert 
looked up at the sky. The sun was near its set- 
ting. Night would come on suddenly. 

With the rapid resolution that was one of his 
chief characteristics, Bert made up his mind. 

“ Make tracks for home, Wah Lee,” he said. 
‘‘ Pm coming with you.” 

The Chinaman made no demur and expressed 
no surprise. He led the way and Bert followed, 
racking his brain for the best thing to do. His 
plans took shape quickly. By the time they drew 
near the grounds, darkness had enveloped them 
like a blanket. He halted the Chinaman and 
talked to him in whispers. 

He must get into the house, without being seen. 
Where did the talks with the white man take 
place? In the library. Very well. Was there 
any place where he, Bert, could be concealed and 
hear what went on? 

But here the Oriental departed from his 
wonted calm. There was too much risk. Bert 
would be killed. His master had men in the 


WAH LEE’S BOSS 


i6i 


house who obeyed him absolutely. If he merely 
lifted his finger, they would kill one man or 
twenty men. 

But Bert was not to be deterred from his pur- 
pose. He had embarked on this venture, and, 
live or die, he would see it through to a finish. 
He cut short the protestations of the frightened 
Celestial and commanded him to show him the 
nearest way to the library. 

There was no way, Wah Lee averred. The 
house swarmed with servants, and detection 
would be certain. Every window and every room 
in the mansion was ablaze with light. Unless he 
could make himself invisible, the attempt was 
hopeless. 

Circling about the house, in the shadow of the 
shrubbery, Bert studied the location of the room 
that the Chinaman had pointed out as the library. 
It was on the second floor, and a broad veranda 
surrounded the house, about two feet beneath the 
window. Near by, a giant tree upreared its 
branches. With a parting word of caution, Bert 
shied up the tree with the agility of a cat. He 
ensconced himself firmly on a projecting branch, 
and peered through the heavy foliage. 

The room into which he looked was a spacious 
one and furnished with all the sumptuousness of 
Eastern luxury. Exquisite tapestries draped the 
walls, and priceless jades and porcelains bespoke 


i 62 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

the taste as well as the wealth of the owner. 
Quaint weapons and suits of armor, doubtless 
worn at some time by a shogun or samurai an- 
cestor gave a touch of grimness to a beauty and 
delicacy of ornament that might otherwise have 
been excessive. 

At a magnificent library table of ebony, inlaid 
with pearl, a man was seated with his head on 
his hand, in an attitude of profound thought. 
His left hand, playing with the ivory handle of 
a dagger that lay on the desk, betrayed a certain 
restlessness, as though he were waiting for some- 
one. From time to time he raised his head, as if 
listening. At last he threw himself back in his 
chair with a gesture of impatience, and, with un- 
seeing eyes, looked out of the window. And 
now, Bert, from his leafy covert, could study his 
face at leisure. 

It was a typical Japanese face, with the high 
cheekbones and slanting eyes that marked his 
race. But nothing could hide the proofs of breed- 
ing and culture that were revealed in every fea- 
ture. It was the face of a statesman, a scholar, 
a warrior, a prince. The habit of command was 
stamped upon it, and in his eyes glowed a spirit 
of resolution that almost reached fanaticism. 
Bert felt instinctively that here was a foeman 
worthy of any man’s steel, a formidable enemy 
who would sweep away like chaff anything that 


WAH LEE’S BOSS 163 

stood between him and the accomplishment of 
his purpose. 

Once or twice, Bert had seen him in Colon, a 
notable figure even in a town at that time filled 
with notables. No one seemed to know much 
about him. Three years ago, he had appeared in 
Panama and purchased a large landed estate. He 
had spent enormous sums in developing it, until 
it had become famous throughout the Isthmus for 
its extent and beauty. That the owner was fabu- 
lously wealthy could not be doubted. But beyond 
this, all was conjecture. He had no official posi- 
tion or diplomatic mission. No breath of suspi- 
cion had ever been attached to him of being in 
any sense hostile to American interests. His 
suavity, his courtesy, his unquestioned wealth and 
standing had won for him universal respect. And 
yet, if Bert’s suspicions proved true, the accom- 
plished Japanese gentleman into whose eyes he 
was looking, was the most dangerous foe that 
America had in the whole wide world. 

A door opened and another Japanese entered 
the room. He was older than the man seated at 
the desk, and his face was creased with the deep 
lines of wisdom and long experience. He might 
have been, and probably was, one of the “ elder 
statesmen ” — that august body, that, at home and 
abroad, guided the destinies of the nation. He 
saluted ceremoniously the owner of the house. 


i 64 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

and they were soon engaged in an animated con- 
versation. 

Then a man of a different type was ushered in 
by an obsequious servant. He was dressed in 
American fashion, but his face indicated a Span- 
ish origin. He was a Cuban who had been edu- 
cated as a civil engineer in one of the scientific 
schools of the United States. His features were 
alert and intelligent, but there was a certain shifti- 
ness in his eyes, and something about him gave 
an indefinable air of dissipation. He had been 
employed for a time in harbor work at Vera Cruz, 
but had killed a man in a brawl and been forced 
to flee the country. On the Canal, there were 
eighty-seven distinct nationalities engaged in the 
work, and, in view of the great demand for labor, 
he had no difficulty in securing employment, the 
more easily as he was an expert in his profession. 
He had been assigned to the Gatun section of 
the work, with his quarters in the city of Colon. 

The Japanese secret service, in its search for 
a suitable tool, had become possessed of the facts 
regarding the murder for which the man, Ofirio, 
by name, was wanted by the Mexican authorities. 
With infinite caution and by slow degrees, they 
had approached and sounded him. They ap- 
pealed to his fears and his avarice. As regards 
the first, they could betray him to his pursuers. 
For the second, they promised him an amount of 


WAH LEE’S BOSS 


165 


money greater than he could expect to earn in the 
course of his natural life, and a safe refuge in 
Japan. Under the stress of these two primal 
emotions, he had yielded, and, for a year past, 
had been in the power and the pay of Namoto, 
the Japanese, in whose library he was at that mo- 
ment standing. He it was who had dropped the 
paper that Wah Lee had so fortunately retrieved 
and which had given Bert the first hint of the 
appalling disaster that threatened his country. 

Bert noticed the subtle something in the air 
of Namoto — a mixture of power, disdain, and 
condescension — as he motioned the engineer to a 
seat. From a stray word or two that came to 
him, he noted that they were talking in English, 
which both understood, while neither could speak 
the native language of the other. 

And now it became imperative that Bert should 
hear the conference that concerned him so tre- 
mendously. From where he was, he could see 
perfectly, but could hear nothing but an occa- 
sional disconnected word. He must leave his safe 
retreat, take his life in his hands and reach the 
veranda that ran beneath the open window. 

Silently, he removed his shoes, and, tying them 
together by the laces, hung them over the branch. 
Then he crept out on the heavy bough that 
reached within three feet of the porch. Holding 
on by his hands, he let himself down, swung back 


i66 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


and forth once or twice to get the proper mo- 
mentum, and then letting himself go, landed as 
lightly as a lynx upon the veranda. A moment 
he swayed trying to keep his nearly lost balance, 
while he looked anxiously to see if the conspira- 
tors had heard. They showed no sign of disturb- 
ance, however, and, with a muttered prayer of 
thankfulness, Bert dropped on his hands and 
knees and crept beneath the sill. And there, safe 
for the instant, with every faculty strained to its 
utmost, he became a fourth, if unseen, member 
of the group. 


CHAPTER XIII 


Marked for Destruction 

/^FIRIO was speaking. 

“ I am sure that nothing has been over- 
looked,” he was saying, evidently in answer to a 
question. “ The charges of dynamite have been 
tamped into the holes, and there are enough of 
them, fired at the same moment, to wreck the 
eastern gate. In any event, it will so Injure the 
delicate machinery that works them, that they 
cannot be moved. Portions of it, no doubt, will 
be blown Into the Canal and block it so effectually 
that no ship can pass through. But, leaving that 
out of the question, if the gate cannot work, the 
Canal is put out of commission. It would be a 
matter of weeks, perhaps of months, to repair 
the damage.” 

“ The longer the better, of course,” said Na- 
moto, “ but we do not ask even that much of fate. 
Give us ten days of confusion and panic, with the 
Atlantic fleet on this side of the Canal and unable 
to get through to the Pacific, and our victory is 
sure.” 


i6; 


i68 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


“How about the tunnel?” asked Togi, the 
oldest of the three. “ Are you sure there is no 
suspicion that it exists?” 

“ Not the slightest,” answered Ofirio. “ I 
came through it myself, last night, entering it at 
the masked exit near the locks, and leaving it by 
the secret opening in your cellar. Nothing has 
been disturbed, and the divers’ helmets were in 
their accustomed place. If the Americans had 
any knowledge of it, their soldiers would already 
be in possession.” 

“ Provided that we can keep the secret until the 
day of the grand opening,” muttered Togi, un- 
easily. “ You are sure,” he went on, “ that the 
connections are perfect?” 

“ The wires have been so strung that not one 
of the charges has been overlooked,” asserted 
Ofirio, confidently. “ There will be no interval 
between the explosions. When your finger presses 
that button, there will be a roar that will deafen 
the city and shake the whole Isthmus.” 

There was a brief pause, and Bert’s heart beat 
so hard that it almost seemed as though it must 
be heard. The hideous plot had been revealed 
in all its blackness. His face was blanched as 
he thought of the possibilities, but he exulted in 
the fact that, at last, he had definite knowledge. 
He knew what was to be done — the destruction 
of the Canal Gate. He knew how it was to be 


MARKED FOR DESTRUCTION 169 

done — ^by an electric current sent through the 
wires to the concealed explosives. He knew when 
it was to be done — on the opening day of the 
Canal. 

In his mind’s eye, he could see the progress of 
the plan that had been conceived and carried on 
with such infernal cunning. With the patience of 
moles, they had dug an underground tunnel, ex- 
tending from Namoto’s mansion to within a short 
distance of the locks. The mention of the divers’ 
helmets gave him a clue to the way in which the 
holes had been made and the dynamite inserted. 
No doubt they had taken advantage of stormy 
nights, lowering themselves into the water at a 
distance from the locks and then slowly groping 
their way toward them. The wires had found a 
conduit in the tunnel, and ran directly to the 
library of Namoto. His index finger was indeed 
the finger of Fate, that expected to write a rec- 
ord of disaster to the United States. One pres- 
sure on a button would send the electric current 
surging through the wires, and the great Canal 
would, for a time at least, be put completely out 
of commission. 

But, after all, this was not an end in itself. 
It was only the means to an end. It would be 
mere vandalism to cripple the Canal, simply for 
the sake of inflicting damage. Besides, the injury 
could be repaired, and, in a short time, all traces 


170 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


of it would have vanished. There must be an 
object for all this enormous toil and risk. What 
was it? 

Namoto had spoken of the Atlantic fleet not 
being able to get through to the Pacific. “Ten 
days of panic and confusion.” Why was it so 
imperative to prevent the warships on this side 
from joining their comrades on the other? Nat- 
urally, to keep the Pacific squadron weak and 
less able to resist attack. Then, an attack was 
planned. By whom? Who could attack us from 
the Pacific side but Japan? And when? Within 
ten days. And again Allison’s words sounded in 
Bert’s ears like the knell of doom: “ Perhaps at 
this very moment a Japanese fleet is on its way 
to the Pacific slope.” 

With a sinking of the heart, Bert reflected on 
the vast number of American warships now at 
Colon or hastening there. The government had 
planned to make a great demonstration of naval 
strength, in order to impress the nations of the 
world. For this purpose, many had been called 
home from European stations. Some of the most 
formidable dreadnoughts building at the navy 
yards had been rushed along in construction, so 
as to be manned and launched for the great re- 
view. Others, which naturally belonged to the 
Pacific squadron, but had been in the drydocks 
for repairs, would in the ordinary course of 


MARKED FOR DESTRUCTION 171 

things, have been despatched before this around 
the Horn, to join their brethren in the Pacific. 
But since the opening of the Canal was so near at 
hand, it seemed unwise to steam ten thousand 
miles, when, in a little while, the same result could 
6e attained by traveling fifty. Thus, from vari- 
ous causes, at least three-fourths of the American 
navy was on the Atlantic side. If it could be kept 
there, the Japanese could attack the remnant in 
the Pacific in overwhelming force. Then, with 
these captured or destroyed, the Japanese vessels 
could bombard San Francisco and Seattle, land 
their troops from the crowded transports, and 
gain control of the whole western coast of the 
United States. It was an imperial idea — boldly 
conceived, broadly planned, patiently developed, 
but — and Bert thanked God — not yet executed. 

These thoughts had passed through his mind 
with lightning rapidity. But now, the plotters 
had resumed their talk. This time, it was Togi 
who spoke. 

“ I would that the time were set for to-night,” 
he said. “ The present is in our hands. The 
future is uncertain. Fortune is fickle. Fate has 
its whims, its bitter jests. All is ready. One 
pressure on that button, and before ten seconds 
have passed, the work is done. Is it wise to wait, 
Namoto? ” 

Bert scarcely dared to breathe, while he waited 


172 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


for the answer. It was long in coming. Namoto 
seemed wavering. Togi had spoken truly. The 
present moment was his. The future was on the 
“ lap of the gods.” Perhaps, in obedience to the 
mysterious laws of mind, the very presence, 
though unknown, of Bert, just outside the win- 
dow, made him sense dimly some crouching dan- 
ger. But the moment of indecision passed, and 
he answered, slowly: 

“ It cannot be, Togi. We must wait. We 
have waited nearly three years. Surely the gods 
of Japan will not desert us in the next two days. 
There are many reasons for waiting, but here 
are two: 

“ The shock must come at just the right mo- 
ment. It will be tenfold more paralyzing, more 
panic-breeding. When bells are ringing, when 
crowds are cheering, when America is exulting, 
when the world is watching — at just that instant 
the blow must fall. The power of the unexpected 
is irresistible. The enemy’s fall will be more 
crushing, and Japan will loom up, a sinister 
image of dread, that will fill the whole horizon. 

“ Then, too, with every hour that passes, our 
fleet is drawing nearer. From all quarters of the 
compass they are converging. Of course, they 
will not form a compact squadron, until the news 
is flashed to them that the Gate has been de- 
stroyed. Then they will unite for the last great 
rush upon the Coast.” 


MARKED FOR DESTRUCTION 173 

“ I should think,” ventured Ofirio, “ that so 
many Japanese warships in one part of the Pacific 
would be noted by merchant ships and reported 
to their governments. Do you not fear that sus- 
picion may be aroused before you are ready? ” 

“Not so,” answered Namoto. “Our Naval 
Department has shown the utmost care and cau- 
tion. For a year past the vessels have been sent 
to various ports along the coast of Japan. In 
every harbor they have lurked, one here, another 
there, at Nakodate, Miyako, Nagasaki, Noshiro, 
Ohama, and others. Some have been reported 
in the naval bulletins as drydocked. Others have 
been sent, in ones and twos, on missions of cour- 
tesy or diplomacy to China, Australia, and other 
countries bordering on the Pacific. So adroitly 
and innocently has this been done, that not even 
a rumor is current in any foreign cabinet that any- 
thing is afoot, and even the masses of the Japa- 
nese themselves do not know what their govern- 
ment is doing. But all the commanders have had 
definite orders so to time their departure from 
the various ports as to meet at a given parallel 
within a day or two of the time set for the open- 
ing of the Canal. That parallel is between Ha- 
waii and San Francisco, barely two days distant 
from the latter. Steam is up, the magazines filled, 
the guns shotted, the plan of campaign worked 
out to the last detail. Like hawks, they are hov- 
ering within easy reach of each other, ready for 


174 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

the signal. The moment I press this button, the 
wireless will flash the news across all the conti- 
nents and all the seas. Then the captains who 
smashed the Russians at Port Arthur and in the 
Sea of Japan will turn their vessels’ prows toward 
arrogant America, and within forty-eight hours 
our guns will be thundering at her western doors.” 

A dull glow crept into his sallow cheeks and 
his eyes blazed, as he saw in vision the victory 
of his beloved Nippon. 

“ But there,” he said, as though repenting his 
outburst of enthusiasm, so foreign to his habitual 
reticence and self-control, “ they will do their 
part. It only remains for us to do ours. I will 
not keep you longer to-night, Ofirio,” he went on, 
by way of dismissal. “ Report to me to-morrow 
at the same hour for final instructions.” 

He pressed a bell, and a servant, bending low, 
ushered the Cuban out into the night. 

But Togi still lingered. The lines in his face 
had deepened. His long experience had taught 
him how often the cup is dashed from the lips 
as one makes ready to drink. The reaction and 
depression that come to one when, after tremen- 
dous toil and strain, his plans await fruition, held 
him in their grip. It is true, those plans seemed 
faultless. Nothing had failed in their calcula- 
tions. The mechanism was working without a 
jar. But this very perfection was in itself omi- 


MARKED EOR DESTRUCTION 75 

nous. Perhaps, even then, fate was preparing to 
spring upon them and lay their hopes in ruins. 
And again his eyes turned longingly toward the 
button, the lightest touch on which would shock 
the world to its center. 

Namoto noticed the direction of his glance and 
smiled. 

“ Be not impatient, Togi,” he said. “ Soon 
now the hour will strike that marks the be^nning 
of a glorious era for our loved Nippon.” 

“ Glorious, yes,” answered Togi. “ Whether 
we win or lose, it will be glorious. Our soldiers 
will know how to fight and die for their country, 
as they have always done, and even if defeated 
they will not be dishonored.” 

“ Dream not of defeat,” protested Namoto. 
“ Let not that word of evil omen pass your lips. 
To doubt may draw down on us the frown of the 
gods.” 

“ But America is a great country, and her peo- 
ple, too, are brave. Besides, they are as the sands 
of the seashore for number.” 

“ So was Russia great, and yet we beat her to 
her knees. We hurled back her armies and we 
crushed her fleets. So will we do to this haughty 
country, that sneers at us as an inferior race. 
America has had no real war for fifty years. She 
has no veterans left. We have hundreds of thou- 
sands who have had their baptism of fire on the 


176 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

field of battle. Can their raw volunteers face 
the seasoned warriors of Japan? Their regular 
troops are but a handful and are scattered all 
over the country. Before any real force can be 
brought against us, we will have subdued all the 
country west of the Rocky Mountains. Then will 
come negotiations. As the price of peace, we will 
wrest from her Hawaii and the Philippines, and 
Japan will be the unquestioned mistress of the 
Pacific.” 

“ But before this can be done,” objected Togi, 
will not the Canal be repaired, so that the rest 
of the American fleet can pass through and attack 
us? ” 

“No,” replied Namoto. “Our first care will 
be to seize the Canal at the Pacific end and block- 
ade it. The ships can only come out one by one, 
and they would be an easy prey to our vessels 
awaiting them in overwhelming force. We would 
be like cats waiting at the door of a mouse trap. 
If, on the other hand, they abandoned this and 
sailed around the Horn, it would be a matter of 
many weeks before they would reach us, and then 
they would be strained and weather tossed and 
uncoaled. Then, too, the Pacific squadron will 
have been destroyed, and we will have the advan- 
tage in ships and guns. If, on the way, they 
attacked Japan in retaliation, our fortifications, 
backed by our land forces, would hold them off. 


MARKED FOR DESTRUCTION 177 

They could land no troops and would have to 
content themselves with a harrying of the coast 
that would amount to nothing. 

“Our plan is perfect,” he went on; “every- 
thing has been provided for. But all depends on 
the blocking of the Canal. If, by any chance, it 
should fail, the campaign would be abandoned. 
Our navy is not yet large enough to match itself 
against the combined naval strength of America. 
We can only win by dividing the enemy, and 
beating his squadrons, one at a time. If the At- 
lantic fleet gets through to the Pacific, at the open- 
ing of the Canal, our labor of years will vanish 
into nothingness. The ships will return quietly 
to Japan by various routes, and the government 
will be ready to deny that any such plot ever 
existed. If you and I are charged with the plot, 
our country will calmly disown us and leave us 
to our fate. 

“ And we would gladly meet that fate for Nip- 
pon’s sake, would we not, Togi? We would go 
to our death with banzais on our lips. It is sweet 
and glorious to die for one’s country.” 

“ Wc are prepared in any event,” said Togi. 
“ If we succeed, your yacht is waiting in the har- 
bor ready to carry us home more swiftly than 

any can hope to follow. If we fail ” He 

made across his breast the sign of hari-kari — the 
Japanese form of suicide. 


178 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

“ If we fail,” agreed Namoto, solemnly, “ our 
home will be with the immortal god's.” 

He reached out his hand, and Togi grasped it 
firmly. For a moment they looked into each 
other’s eyes. Then with a murmured word of 
farewell, the elder man turned and glided from 
the room. 

Left alone, Namoto rose and strolled rest- 
lessly about. Then he approached the window, 
beneath which Bert lay hidden. 

For a while he stood there motionless. Then 
he leaned out to catch the refreshing breeze. Bert 
tried to make himself as small as possible, and 
pressed close against the house. Namoto’s eyes, 
glancing carelessly about, suddenly fell on the 
crouching figure. 

Startled, he drew back, a cry shrilling from his 
lips. Like a flash, Bert straightened up, leaped 
through the open window, and the next instant 
his hands had closed about Namoto’s throat. 
Down to the floor they went with a crash. 

But the mischief had been done. The cry of 
Namoto had carried beyond the room. The door 
burst open and a horde of retainers rushed in. 
There was a stunning blow on the head, a shower 
of sparks streamed before his eyes, his grasp re- 
laxed, and Bert felt himself sinking, sinking into 
a fathomless abyss. 


CHAPTER XIV 


Snatched From the Sea 

he came back to consciousness, he 
found himself tightly bound and gagged. 
His head swam, and objects danced giddily before 
him. 

Gradually he accustomed himself to the light 
and looked about him. A score of men stood 
leaning against the walls, while Namoto and 
Togi, seated at the desk, were conversing in low 
tones. They spoke in Japanese, but he had no 
doubt that they were deciding for him the issues 
of life and death. He had no delusions as to 
what probably awaited him. He had learned too 
much to be allowed to live. 

But the conspirators seemed perplexed. To 
kill him, then and there, would be awkward. 
There is nothing in the world harder to dispose 
of than a dead body. Burial, burning, destruction 
by acids — all left traces. And this was not Japa- 
nese but American soil. There might be a hue 
and cry, a search, exposure, arrest. Still, he must 
vanish from the land of the living. 

179 


i8o BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

At last, Togi seemed to have an inspiration. 
He bent over eagerly and disclosed his idea. Na- 
moto pondered and found it good. He beckoned 
to an officer in a naval uniform, and gave him his 
instructions. 

At a signal, four men advanced, and, taking 
Bert by the legs and shoulders, carried him 
through a secret passage into the grounds. As 
silently as so many ghosts, they followed a road 
that led through the estate to the river’s brink. 
There lay the swift sea-going yacht that Togi had 
mentioned. Bert was carried on board, the ves- 
sel slipped its moorings, and like a wraith passed 
down the Bay of Limon and out to sea. 

It was with a sinking heart that Bert saw the 
lights of Colon grow more and more indistinct, 
until they looked to be little more than a nebulous 
haze rising above the water. His first thought 
had been that the Japanese were taking him to 
Japan, for some reason of their own, and as 
they steamed on mile after mile this idea gained 
strength. 

After his capture he had expected nothing bet- 
ter than instant death, and when he found that 
his captors had other plans he had a gleam of 
hope. Perhaps, after all, he could make his es- 
cape in some way, or get a message to the author- 
ities. But when he was taken to the yacht hope 
died within him, and he almost wished he had 


SNATCHED FROM THE SEA i8i 

been killed at the moment of capture. Knowing 
what he did, the possibility of his own life being 
spared brought him but little comfort. Once 
fairly at sea, and he felt that nothing could stop 
the awful catastrophe hanging over his country. 

Filled with these melancholy reflections, he 
hardly noticed what was going on around him, 
and only looked up when two sturdy Japanese sea- 
men approached him. They untied his bonds, re- 
moved the gag, and motioned him to follow them. 
Bert, seeing no sense in useless resistance, did as 
directed. 

As he approached the port rail, he saw that a 
group of sailors gathered there were lowering 
some object over the side. As he reached the rail 
and looked down, he saw that it was a large, flat- 
bottomed rowboat, with nothing in it except a 
wooden bailer shaped like an ordinary shovel. 

This boat was quickly lowered until it touched 
the water, and then Bert saw what had previously 
escaped his notice — namely, that several holes, 
each about as large as a five-cent piece, had been 
bored in the bottom of the boat, and through 
these the water was rushing in a dozen little 
fountains. 

Then he realized what were the intentions of 
his captors, and his heart, which at sight of the 
boat had begun to beat hopefully, seemed to turn 
to lead. This, then, was to be his end! With 


i 82 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


fiendish ingenuity, the Japs had prepared this 
death-trap for him, knowing that he would fight 
up to the last moment from the instinct of self- 
preservation. The enemy of Japan should not 
die too easily. His agony must be prolonged. 
According to their calculations, the water would 
continue coming in faster than Bert could possibly 
bail it out, and eventually he would sink, and his 
perilous knowledge with him. 

Well, at any rate, he resolved to make his 
enemies sorry that they had ever seen him. As 
the sailors came toward him with the evident in- 
tention of forcing him into the boat, he grasped 
a camp chair that was standing near the rail, and 
swinging it in a mighty circle about his head, 
brought it crashing down on the head of the fore- 
most seaman. The man dropped as though struck 
by lightning, and for a second his comrades hesi- 
tated, looking about them for weapons. 

At a crisp command from an officer, who was 
standing a little to one side, they came on again 
with a rush. Bert felled the first of his antago- 
nists with the stout chair, and then, as they were 
too close upon him for further use of this weapon, 
dropped it and resorted to his fists. He struck 
out right and left with all the strength of his pow- 
erful muscles, and for a few seconds actually held 
his swarming assailants at bay. Three men 
dropped before his hammer-like blows, before he 


SNATCHED EROM THE SEA 183 

was finally forced over the railing by sheer force 
of numbers and hurled into the rowboat. 

As he struck it, the water spurted through the 
holes in the boat, and a shrill cackling laugh came 
from the row of slant-eyed faces peering down 
over the rail. The little craft was by now a 
quarter full of water, and as the Japanese yacht 
took on speed and swung away on its course Bert 
started bailing desperately. He realized that 
there was hardly one chance in a thousand of his 
being picked up before, in spite of all he could 
do, the little boat would fill with water and sink. 

However, he resolved to keep afloat as long as 
he could on the bare chance of some vessel pass- 
ing in his neighborhood. Accordingly he set to 
work with the wooden scoop, sending sheet after 
sheet over the side. He worked desperately, and 
at first almost thought that he was gaining on the 
incoming water. His exertions were execessive, 
and before long he was forced to bail more 
slowly. He kept watching a deep scratch in the 
side of the boat to see if the water was gaining. 
With a sinking heart he realized that it was. In 
spite of all he could do, it crept up and up until 
finally it was over the scratch and the boat was 
nearly half full. Luckily for him, the sea was 
unusually calm, or he must soon have been 
swamped. 

At the thought of all that it would mean to bis 


i 84 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

country If he drowned with his secret, Bert fell 
to with the scoop with furious energy, but was 
not able to hold his terrible pace long, and finally 
flung down the bailer in despair. 

“ Perhaps I can plug up the holes,” he thought, 
and ripped off his coat. He tore great pieces 
from It and tried to stuff up the holes, but to no 
effect. Such crude plugs as he could make were 
inadequate to stay the inrush of water, and he 
would hardly have time to insert one in one 
opening before that In another gave way. 

So he was forced to give up this plan, and had 
recourse once more to the bailer. His only hope 
now was to keep afloat until he might be seen 
and picked up by a passing boat. He strained 
his eyes over the surrounding sea, but there was 
no sign of help In sight. 

Slowly but surely the water crept up the sides 
of the boat until it was only a few inches from 
the gunwales. As the boat sank deeper, the 
water rushed in with ever-increasing force, and 
finally the conviction was forced in upon Bert 
that he had really come to the end of his re- 
sources. Of course, even after the boat sank, he 
could- swim a little while, but after his fierce fight 
on the deck of the Japanese yacht and his terrific 
exertions afterward, he knew he would have little 
strength left. 

Nevertheless he stripped off his outer clothing 


SNATCHED FROM THE SEA 185 

and resolved to do the best he could. Suddenly 
he was startled by a splashing, gurgling noise be- 
hind him, and, looking around, was surprised and 
puzzled to see what looked like the back of a 
huge whale floating within fifty feet of the stern 
of his little craft. In a second he understood, and 
a great wave of joy surged over him. 

“ It’s a submarine,” he thought, “ and an Amer- 
ican one at that,” as he recognized the design. 

Even as he looked, a Hatch was thrown open 
in the deck of the submarine, and the head and 
shoulders of a man emerged from the aperture. 
Almost at the same instant Bert’s rowboat gave 
a gentle lurch and disappeared beneath the sur- 
face. As he felt it sinking, Bert gave a great 
shout, and the man on the submarine whirled 
around in his direction, surprise written large on 
his countenance. 

“ By thunder I ” he exclaimed, “ what in the 

name of ” But here he dived below and in 

a few seconds reappeared with a life preserver 
attached to a long cord. This he cast toward 
Bert, who in the meantime had been swimming 
steadily toward the submarine. Bert grasped the 
preserver and was rapidly drawn on board by the 
first man who had appeared, and by two others 
who by now had joined him. Bert was soon safe 
on the sloping deck, and was besieged by a thou- 
sand questions. 


i86 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


The man who had first espied Bert was evi- 
dently an officer, and he soon quitted the others 
and took the cross-examination in his own hands. 
It was some time before Bert was able to answer, 
and probably at no time in his strenuous career 
had he come nearer complete exhaustion. 

Finally, however, his strength began to return, 
and he staggered to his feet. 

“For Heaven’s sake!” he exclaimed, “take 
me to the captain and let me give him a message 
I have for him. Never mind anything else just 
now — I can tell you all about that after we get 
started.” 

The officer saw that he was in deadly earnest, 
and although he was rather inclined to think this 
young fellow’s experiences had unbalanced his 
mind, he led him below without further loss of 
time. 

They descended a steep ladder, and presently 
entered the room in which were kept the machin- 
ery controls, guages, and other apparatus relating 
to the operation of the submarine. There was 
a solidly built table in the center of this room, 
and at this, carefully examining a chart spread 
out in front of him, sat a sturdy, thick-set man 
of perhaps fifty years of age. As the officer en- 
tered, followed by Bert, the captain rose and 
waited for the officer’s report. 

He gave Bert only one glance, but it was such 


SNATCHED FROM THE SEA 187 

a keen, searching one, that our hero felt there 
was little in his appearance that the other had 
overlooked. Then the captain turned his eyes 
back to the officer, and returned the latter’s salute. 

“ Well, Mr. Warren, what have you to re- 
port? ” he asked. 

“ Why, sir,” replied the officer, “ I don’t ex- 
actly know myself. When we ascended to the 
surface and I went up on deck, the first thing I 
saw was a foundering rowboat with this young 
man in it. A few seconds later it sank, and he 
swam toward the ship. I threw him a life pre- 
server, and we hauled him aboard. He wouldn’t 
answer any questions, though, and insisted on 
speaking with you personally, so I thought it best 
to bring him along.” 

‘‘Very good,” responded the captain, and 
turned slightly toward Bert. “ Now, young 
man,” he said, “ you wished to speak to me, and 
here I am. What Is it you wanted to tell me? ” 

Thereupon Bert poured out the whole story 
of the Japanese plot as fast as he could speak, 
and the captain and his officer listened attentively, 
once In a while asking a terse question. The com- 
mander’s eyes were riveted on Bert during his 
whole speech, and when he had finished he sat a 
few moments Immersed in deep thought. 

Then he sprang to his feet and gave crisp 
orders to get the submarine under way. “ See 


i88 


BERl' WILSON AT PANAMA 


that the lad Is clothed and well taken care of, 
Mr. Warren,” he ordered, as his commands were 
being carried out. “ He’s evidently had some 
rather strenuous experiences, during the last few 
hours, and a little food and rest will do him 
a lot of good. We can wake him up when we 
need him.” 

Lieut. Warren saluted, and motioned to Bert 
to follow him. He led him through a long pass- 
age to the officers’ dining room, and when a place 
was set for him at the table Bert fell to with a 
good appetite. The officers were naturally very 
much interested in his adventures, and he told 
them as much of his recent experiences as he 
thought fit, of course not mentioning details of 
the plot. Before very long they asked him his 
name, and when they learned that he was actually 
the man who had won the Marathon race at the 
last Olympic games, they would gladly have made 
him a present of the ship had they been able. 

It was with the greatest difficulty that he finally 
broke away and made an attempt to get a little 
sleep. He was so excited that he found this 
impossible, however, and soon returned to the 
company of the officers. The electric motors 
driving the ship were humming at top speed, and 
the registering apparatus indicated a rate of fif- 
teen knots an hour. This was good speed for a 
submarine, but Bert figured that, as the yacht on 


SNATCHED FROM THE SEA 189 


which he had been carried out was unusually 
swift, it must have traveled at least one hundred 
and fifty miles from the Colon harbor. At the 
rate of fifteen knots an hour, then, it would take 
them a little over ten hours to get back into the 
harbor, and he did not know how much longer to 
get up the canal to the mined gate of the lock. 
There was always the chance of accidents or 
delay, and he must reach the city before the 
morrow dawned. 


CHAPTER XV 


Cutting the Wires 

T T seemed as though the time would never pass, 
^ and he tried to divert his mind by looking out 
of the glass windows or portholes, set in near the 
bow of the submarine. The boat was equipped 
with a powerful searchlight, which threw its bril- 
liant rays far ahead, and lit up the ocean for a 
considerable distance all around. Even in his agi- 
tated state of mind, he found time to wonder at 
the dense and active life of the sea. Fishes, large 
and small and of every conceivable shape and 
coloring, swam close up to the porthole and 
seemed to be trying to look in. Some, attracted 
by the beams of light, followed the course of the 
submarine, never seeming to tire or fall back. 

Every once In a while, some larger fish, en- 
gaged on a foraging expedition, would cross the 
path of light, and there would be a general scat- 
tering of the smaller fry, as they darted hither 
and thither In a frenzied search for safety. Some, 
indeed, the majority, were beautifully striped and 
spotted, and most of them Bert had never seen 


CUTTING THE WIRES 191 

before. As he watched this teeming life, he grew 
more and more interested, and almost forgot his 
present surroundings. He was recalled to them 
by a light tap on the shoulder, and, turning 
around, he saw the officer. Lieutenant Warren, 
who had thrown him the life preserver. 

“ Quite an interesting study, isn’t it, Mr. Wil- 
son?” he asked, with a pleasant smile. 

“ I should say it was,” exclaimed Bert, enthu- 
isastically. “ I never dreamed of being able to 
see a sight like this. It’s almost worth having 
lived a lifetime just to have had this experience.” 

The other smiled at his earnestness. 

“Yes,” he said, “we all felt the same way 
you do, when we took our first few trips. There 
used to be hot arguments as to whose turn it was 
at the port hole, and we had to arrange regular 
times between us. The novelty soon wore off, 
though, and now, as you see, there isn’t much 
competition.” 

“ Well, it’s new to me, yet, and I certainly 
find it very interesting,” replied Bert. “ These 
fishes seem to be every color of the rainbow, and 
the way they keep darting in and out reminds me 
of a kaleidoscope on a large scale. 

“ It does, rather,” the lieutenant assented, 
“ and, believe me, we see lots of things besides 
fishes, too. Why, I’ve come across all kinds of 
wrecked ships, from rowboats to big four-mast- 


192 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


ers. In tropic waters, weVe seen many a ship 
that Fm sure was an old Spanish galleon, and 
ril wager there’s many a fortune in gold and 
silver pieces that we’ve had to pass over in the 
performance of duty. There are uncounted 
riches lying at the bottom of this old ocean, my 
boy.” 

“ I don’t doubt it in the least,” answered Bert, 
and then Mr. Warren went on to tell him vari- 
ous yarns of strange adventures he had under- 
gone and marvelous things that he had seen. 
Bert listened, fascinated, for the officer was a 
man who had not only been all over the world, 
but knew how to tell a story. The time passed 
more quickly than he had dared to hope, and 
just before dawn, he was told that they were 
almost at the entrance of the Canal. 

The little submarine flew into the great new 
waterway, and hesitated no more than the brave 
hearts guiding its course. Its powerful search- 
light illuminated the Canal from side to side, and 
they were able to get an idea of the immensity 
of the completed enterprise. Mile after mile, 
the smooth concrete wall slipped away back of 
them, thick, ponderous, designed to last as long 
as civilization lasted, and perhaps longer. As 
Bert gazed, his heart thrilled with a great pride 
at what his country had accomplished, and this 
feeling was succeeded by a fierce hatred of those 


CUTTING THE WIRES 193 

who were plotting to set the great work at 
naught. 

But now, the submarine had almost reached 
the mined gate of the Lock, and its speed was 
gradually reduced three-fourths. It nosed cau- 
tiously along, until the searchlight revealed a 
vast structure directly ahead. Instantly the mo- 
tors were reversed, and by the time the boat’s 
speed had been checked, it was not more than 
thirty feet from the gate. 

In the meantime one of the crew had been 
encased in a diver’s suit and now made ready to 
leave. He was conducted into an air-tight room 
near the bottom of the submarine, and, after the 
door had been securely fastened, water was ad- 
mitted. When the room was full, the diver 
opened a door in the hull and stepped out of 
the boat, which had previously been lowered 
until it rested on the Canal bottom. 

From the porthole in the submarine’s bow he 
could be seen slowly making his way, following 
the luminous path made by the searchlight. In 
a short time he reached the gate of the lock, and 
began to follow its course toward the bank. He 
was soon out of the range of vision of those at 
the porthole, but, in a few minutes, returned; and 
it could be seen, by the way in which he still 
scanned the walls, that he had not yet found the 
wires leading to the explosives. 


194 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

He had traversed perhaps half the distance 
from the center to the other bank, when he was 
seen to stop suddenly and carefully examine 
something near the lock. 

“ ril bet he’s found the wires,” exclaimed 
Bert, excitedly. 

“Very likely he has,” replied Mr. Warren. 
“ I was beginning to be afraid that the plotters 
had buried the wires so cunningly that it would 
be almost impossible to get at them.” 

But here, all doubts on the subject were set at 
rest, as they saw the sailor draw a pair of wire 
cutters from his belt and ply them on something 
near the wall. Immediately afterward he 
straightened up and waved his hand, as a 
signal that everything was all right. 

“ By Jove,” cried the lieutenant, drawing a 
long breath, “ I guess now we’ve spoiled those 
fellows’ plans for good. But, believe me, that 
was rather ticklish work. I expected almost 
every minute to be wafted heavenward by a 
charge of dynamite. None of us would have 
had the slightest chance in the world, if that 
explosion had taken place.” 

“ I rather think you’re right,” agreed Bert. 
“ But why doesn’t the man come back? He 
seems to be continuing his search along the 
Lock gate.” 

“ Oh, that’s because the captain gave him or- 



They saw the sailor draw a pair of wire cutters from his belt and 
ply them on something near the wall. 



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CUTTING THE WIRES 195 

ders before he went out to examine the wall from 
end to end for traces of a second set of wires. 
But I guess that the Japs had such confidence in 
their handiwork that they had no doubt of the 
success of their one set. I must confess that I 
haven’t much doubt regarding them, either, if 
we hadn’t happened along to spoil the whole 
show 'for them.” 

“Yes, the whole country owes Mr. Wilson a 
debt of gratitude it can never repay,” broke in 
Captain Clendenin, who had come up and over- 
heard the lieutenant’s last remark. “ It would 
have been a heavy blow, and one that would have 
required the expenditure of thousands of lives to 
recover from. The value of your services can- 
not be rated too highly, sir.” 

“I’m grateful for your high opinion of me, 
I’m sure,” replied Bert, much confused by such 
high praise, “ but it was as much by luck as any- 
thing else that I first got wind of the plan, and 
after that, of course, there was only one thing 
for me to do.” 

“ That’s all very well,” responded the captain, 
“ but nevertheless not many men I know would 
have done it, and I abide by my statement. It is 
no light thing for a young man to attempt, single- 
handed, to thwart the plans of a great and pow- 
erful nation.” 

The diver had by this time completed a very 


196 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

thorough inspection of every inch of thp gate, 
and in a short time returned to the submarine. 
He entered the water-filled room from which he 
had stepped forth, and, after he had closed the 
door in the vessel’s hull, pulled a signal rope, 
and in a very few minutes the powerful pumps 
had emptied the room of water. Then the man 
was admitted to the body of the boat and re- 
lieved of his cumbersome suit. 

This done, he immediately reported to the cap- 
tain, and gave him a detailed account of what he 
had found. 

“ There were two sets of wires, sir,” he said, 
“ so that if one had not worked, the other would. 
I looked very carefully along the walls for other 
wires, but didn’t find any.” 

The captain dismissed him, with a word of 
approbation, and then gave orders for the sub- 
marine to get under way. This was done, but 
Captain Clendenin had no intention of rising di- 
rectly to the surface. The water chambers were 
pumped out very slowly, and, as the boat grad- 
ually rose, it was steered slowly back and forth 
across the face of the gates, and men were sta- 
tioned at the portholes to look for any indication 
of other wires. They found none, but were able 
to see where the dynamite charges had been 
placed. Evidently the walls had been charged 
with enough of high explosives not only to de- 


CUTTING THE WIRES 


197 

range the machinery but possibly to blow it into 
fragments. 

The men in the submarine shuddered as they 
thought of the awful catastrophe that would 
have occurred, and thanked the Providence that 
had enabled them to avert it. Bert became a 
veritable hero to all on board'. Of course, by 
this time, the crew had gained a pretty good idea 
of how matters stood, and had as strong an admi- 
ration for him as had the officers. They were 
all picked men, chosen for their intelligence and 
bravery, and were therefore well fitted to appre- 
ciate these qualities when found in others. And 
Bert’s exploit was ofter their own heart. 

He had free run of the ship, and had learned 
the uses of most of the ingenious devices that 
were scattered everywhere about the boat. Ac- 
cordingly, as he now stepped into the control 
room, he saw at a glance that they were nearing 
the surface of the water, being at this moment 
only twenty feet beneath it. 

The guage indicated less and less depth, and 
suddenly a burst of sunshine entering the port- 
hole told Bert that they were at the surface. 
The hatchway was thrown open and he ascended 
to the deck. The pure, sweet air was very grate- 
ful after the somewhat confined atmosphere of 
the submarine, and Bert drew In great breaths 
of It. Pretty soon Lieutenant Warren joined 


198 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

him on the little platform and shared with him 
the beauty of the morning. 

“ It certainly gets pretty close in here at 
times,” he remarked. “ Once we got stuck on 
the bottom and had all sorts of a time getting 
off. Our reserve supply of air was used up and 
we all thought we’d suffocate, sure. But we 
managed to get loose from the wreck we were 
mixed up with, just in time, and I don’t believe 
that I ever enjoyed the sight of the blue sky as 
I did then. It was a narrow squeak, and no mis- 
take.” 

“I should say it was,” answered Bert, and 
then, after a pause, he asked:' “ But where are 
we bound for, now. Lieutenant? What’s the 
next move in the game?” 

“ Why, we’ll get news of this plot to the Canal 
authorities and the War Department, as soon as 
possible, and then it will be up to them to act 
as they see fit. You’ve done your part and we’ve 
done ours, and they in their wisdom can decide 
the future policy of the nation.” 

“ But what do you think that will be? ” queried 
Bert. “ They’ll declare war, now, won’t they? ” 

“ That’s a hard question to answer,” mused 
the other, “ but it’s my private opinion that the 
whole matter will be hushed up. You may be 
sure that those engaged in this affair have cov- 
ered their tracks very skillfully, and it would be 


CUTTING THE WIRES 


199 


practically impossible to prove that they were 
accredited agents of the Japanese Government. 
And in a case of that kind, the world requires 
more than mere suspicion, you know.” 

“Yes, I guess you’re right,” said Bert, 
thoughtfully. “ Come to think of it. I’m the 
only one who overheard the plotters, and my evi- 
dence probably wouldn’t be sufficient to prove a 
connection between them and the Japanese Gov- 
ernment. I hadn’t thought of that before.” 

“Well, I rather think that is the way it will 
work out,” said the lieutenant. “ However, you 
never can tell which way the cat will jump at 
Washington, and this may be the first move in 
a great war. We won’t have many days to wait 
to find out, an)rway.” 

The submarine made all haste to the nearest 
cable station at Colon, and from there ciphers 
in the navy code were sent to the authorities, 
narrating all the events connected with the plot. 

Bert was put ashore, as soon as the subma- 
rine reached harbor, and parted from her officers 
with warm expressions of mutual esteem. The 
morning was well advanced, as he hurried to- 
ward his hotel. There was a hum of prepara- 
tion apparent, the streets were crowded with 
throngs hastening to secure a point of vantage 
for the coming spectacle, and flags and bunting 
floated everywhere. And just then, as he turned 


200 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 


a corner, Dick and Tom, with a wild yell pounced 
upon him. The anxiety and fear written on their 
haggard faces were replaced by a look of inex- 
pressible delight. They grabbed his hands and 
pounded him on the back and otherwise acted as 
though suddenly deranged. 

“You old rascal,” shouted Tom. “Where 
on earth have you been?” 

“Glory, hallelujah,” cried Dick. “We’ve 
searched high and low and have nearly gone 
crazy.” 

Their queries rained on him without stint, but 
not till they had reached the hotel and he had 
bathed and dressed did he pour out the details 
of the astounding plot. The boys were thunder- 
struck at the peril, missed only by a hair’s- 
breadth, and their pride in Bert’s achievement 
and joy at his return were beyond all words. 

They were sitting on the upper veranda, as 
they talked, and the huge American flag that flew 
over the hotel, floated past them, just brushing 
them, as though in a caress. 

“ Old Glory,” murmured Bert. 

“ The flag still waves,” added Tom. 

“Yes,” exulted Dick, “and not at half-mast, 
either.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


The Foiling of the Plot 

TT was noon, and Namoto sat in his library, 
^ waiting. 

He was alone. All preparations had been 
made for instant flight. His household treas- 
ures, his heirlooms, his followers, with Togi in 
charge, had been sent to the yacht, that, with 
steam up, was lying at its moorings. The cap- 
tain had reported the disposition of the prisoner, 
and had received his master’s commendation. 
And now, after measureless toil and risk and 
scheming, Namoto prepared to taste the sweets 
of victory. 

How near that victory was! The ceremonies 
were to begin at twelve. He saw in imagination 
the crowded wharves and banks, the shouring 
throngs, the stately ships, as, decked with flags, 
they moved slowly up the bay to the entrance 
of the Canal. As the first one entered the locks 
there was to be a salvo of artillery from all the 
vessels of the fleet. And then, his turn would 


201 


202 


BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

come. A slight pressure on that button, and 
there would be a crash, a roar that would echo 
around the world. Japan would hear and re- 
joice; America would hear and tremble. To the 
one, it would be the signal of glorious triumph; 
to the other, the crack of doom. 

There it was, now! Through the window 
came the boom of guns. He waited till the 
echoes died away. 

Then, smiling, he forced the button down, and 
listened for the thunder of the explosion. 

Silence 1 

Wonderingly, he pressed again. 

And again, the silence of the grave! 

Wildly, desperately, frantically, he pushed 
down with all his strength. Then, pale as ashes, 
he rose to his feet. 

He had failed. How or why, he did not 
know. But, he had failed. He had gambled 
for great stakes and lost. 

He could still escape. His yacht was waiting. 
He walked with a firm step over to the wall, and 
took down a dagger that had belonged to his 
ancestors. 

And when Togi and the captain, alarmed at 
his non-appearance, burst into the room an hour 
later, they found him there. His home in Japan, 
his beloved Nippon, would never see him again. 
His soul had gone in search of that other home, 


THE FOILING OF THE PLOT 203 

promised by his creed to those who die for their 
country — “ the home of the Immortal gods.” 

* * * 3i£ 

And all through that day and many days suc- 
ceeding, the great Atlantic fleet climbed over the 
ridges of the continent and dropped into the Pa- 
cific. And out on that vast expanse, other ships, 
under another flag, melted away on the horizon, 
like the passing of an evil dream. The threat 
of Invasion was over. In Toklo, they writhed 
In secret over the miscarriage of their plans, 
while In the inner circles of Washington there 
was unfeigned relief and rejoicing. And all 
America, unknowing of the peril so narrowly 
escaped, gloried over the successful opening to 
the world of the great Panama Canal. 

For, as had been predicted, the matter was 
hushed up and burled in the official archives — 
that graveyard of so many tragedies, actual and 
impending. Those who knew were pledged to 
secrecy. Some day, perhaps, when the time was 
ripe, America would demand with Interest the 
debt due from Japan. But while there could be 
no public recognition of Bert’s services, he cher- 
ished as one of his choicest treasures a personal 
letter from the President thanking him for his 
splendid achievement in behalf of the nation. 

And now they were on their way home, their 
hearts aglow with patriotism, after the stupen- 


204 BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

dous proof of their co?jntry’s genius and destiny, 
as shown in the great Canal. 

Wah Lee, who had been under the close watch 
kept on all the household, after Bert was discov- 
ered, had escaped from the yacht, in the confu- 
sion following the death of Namoto, and sought 
refuge with the boys. His delight at finding 
Bert safe and sound was only second to that of 
Dick and Tom. At his earnest entreaties, they 
had agreed to take him to “Amelika” and look 
after his future fortunes. He was hobnobbing 
now with some of his yellow-skinned compatriots 
in the steerage, while the boys sat on the upper 
deck of the liner, as it drew away from Colon. 

“ It’s a burning shame,” Tom was saying, 
hotly. “ You saved the country from disaster, 
and scarcely anyone knows it.” 

“Yes,” asserted Dick, emphatically, “your 
name ought to be a household word all over the 
United States.” 

“ Easy there, fellows,” said Bert. “ Anyone 
else could have done it. I simply had the chance 
and took it. It was sheer luck.” 

“ No,” cried Dick. “ It was sheer pluck.” 

He had struck the keynote of his comrade’s 
character. And, in Bert’s later career, that 
quality of pluck persisted. In the field of sport 
It was soon to be as prominent as in the dashing 
adventure through which he had just come tri- 


THE FOILING OF THE PLOT 205 


umphant. How brilliantly it came to the fore 
in the exciting struggle that awaited him will be 
seen in 

“ Bert Wilson’s Twin-Cylinder Racer.” 


■r- 






THE BERT WILSON SERIES 

Br J. W. DUFnELD 


An excellent series of stories for boys, full of out- 
door life and adventures, athletic sports, etc. 
Wholesome, clean and instructive. 


BERT WILSON AT THE WHEEL 

An absorbing story of automobile explo^, abounding in 
stirring experiences and exciting adventures. 

BERT WILSON^S FADEAWAY BALL 

How a baseball pennant was won by the masterly pitch- 
ing of the young Freshman recruit is told in crisp, snappy 
fashion, with a wealth of thrilling detail that will delight 
the lovers of the great national game. 

BERT WILSON, WIRELESS OPERATOR 

Perils of storm and shipwreck, head-hunters and pirates, 
are woven into a romance of compelling power that chains 
the attention at once and holds it to the end. 

BERT WILSON, MARATHON WINNER 

How the pick of the world’s athletes struggled for 
supremacy and how the representative of the Stars and 
Stripes^ carried off the crowning victory at the great 
Olympic games. 


Others in preparation 


i 2 mo, cloth, with four illustrations in eadi, by 
H. G. Richards. 

Price each, 6o cents. 


SULLY AND KLEINTHCH— NEW YORK 


THE BERT WILSON SERIES 

By J. W. DUpnELD 

THE FOLLOWING TITLES ARE 
IN PREPARATION 

BERT WILSON AT PANAMA 

A host of thrilling adventures is woven into this stirring 
story of the young American who thwarts by his quick wit 
and determined courage a plot to destroy the great canal. 
Brimming with interest from cover to cover. 

BERT WILSON’S TWIN-CYLINDER RACER 

A motor-cycle romance of speed and daring that will stir 
the blood and make the heart beat faster. How sheer pluck 
that refused to be downed won out against foul play and 
tremendous odds. 

BERT WILSON ON THE GRIDIRON 

The “never-say-die” spirit of college football that makes 
it such a glorious game sparkles on every page. A gripping 
story of ‘ ‘bucking the line” and “going round the ends,” 
culminating in the great run down the field in the last min- 
ute of play that snatched victory from defeat. 

BERT WILSON IN THE ROCKIES 

Full of life and spirit, dash and danger in the wild regions 
of the West. The picturesque figures of the fronteir — greas- 
ers and grizzlies, rustlers and road agents — appear in ad- 
ventures that make one throb and tingle with excitement. 


i 2 mo, cloth, with four illustrations in each, by 
H. G. Richards. 

Price each, 6o cents. 


SULLY AND KLEINTEICH-NEW YORK 


Publications of Sully and Kleinteich 


THE “HOW” BOOKS 

HOW TO MAKE THINGS 

By Archibald Williams 

Author of “How It is Done,” “How It is Made,” “How It Works.” 

This is just the book for the active youth who has got beyond the period when he 
wks, ‘ How is it done?” and now wishes to do it himself. The book is very fully 
illustrated with useful diagrams drawn exacdy to scale. 

I2mo. Cloth, 450 pages, with numerous illustrations and diagrams. 
Price $ 1 .20 net 

HOW IT IS DONE 

OR, VICTORIES OF THE ENGINEER 

By Archibald Williams 

Author of “How It is Made,” “How It Works,” “How To Make Things.” 
Describing in simple language how the great engineering achievements in all parts 
of the world have bron accomplished. It is a book brimful of interest for everybody, 
and especially to the younger generation with a turn for engineering in any of its 
many branches. 

12 mo« Cloth. 450 pages, with 268 illustrations and diagrams. 
Price $1 .20 net 

HOW IT IS MADE 

By Archibald Williams 

Author of “How It Works,” “How It is Done,” “How To Make Things,” 
Describing in simple language how various machines and many euticles in common 
use are manufacture from the raw material. 

1 2mo. Cloth. 474 pages, with numerous illustrations and diagrams. 
Price $1.20 net 

HOW IT WORKS 

By Archibald Williams 

Author of “How It is Done,” “How To Make Things,” “How It is Made.” 

It deals in simple language with Steam, Ellectricity, Light, Heat, Sound, Hy- 
draulics, Optics, etc,, and with their application to apparatus in common use. 

12mo. Cloth. 461 pages, with illustrations and diagrams. 

Price $1.20 net 

HOW IT FLIES 

OR, THE CONQUEST OF THE AIR 

By Richard Ferris, B. S., C. E. 

The story of man’s endeavors to fly and of the inventions by which he has 
succeeded. 

l2mo. Cloth. 476 pages, with numerous illustrations and diagrams. 
Price 1 .20 net 


Sully and Kleinteich 


New York 


Publications of Sully and Kleinteich 



Sully and Kleinteich - - New York 


Publications of Sully and Kleinteich 


THE GATEWAY SERIES 

GATEWAY TO CHAUCER 

Stories told by EMILY UNDERDOWN, from the Canterbury 
Tales of GEOFFREY CHAUCER. With 16 colored plates and 
numerous marginal illustrations after drawings by Anne Anderson. 
8vo. Cloth. Net $2.00 

THE GATEWAY TO SPENSER 

Tales, retold by EMILY UNDERDOWN, from “The Faerie 
Queene" of EDMUND SPENSER. With 16 colored plates and 
numerous marginal illustrations from drawings by F. G, PAPE. 
8vo. Cloth. Net $2.00 

THE GATEWAY TO ROMANCE 

Tales retold by EMILY UNDERDOWN, from “The Earthly 
Paradise,” by WILLIAM MORRIS. With 16 colored plates and 
many other illustrations. 

8vo. Cloth. Net $2.00 

THE GATEWAY TO TENNYSON 

Tales and extracts from the poet’s works, with an introduction 
by MRS. ANDREW LANG. With 16 colored illustrations from 
drawings by NORMAN LITTLE. 

8vo. Cloth. Net $2.00 

THE GATEWAY TO SHAKESPEARE 

Containing a life of Shakespeare, by MRS. ANDREW LANG, 
a selection from the plays, and from “Lamb’s Tales.” With 16 
colored plates and many other illustrations. 

8vo. Cloth. Net $2.00 


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THE WONDERS OF THE WORLD 

Formerly published under the title of 
“The World by the Fireside.” 

By MARY and ELIZABETH KIRBY. Crown. 
8 VO. Cloth. Hundreds of illustrations. Price $1.50 

This volume brings the world, that is so full of wonders, 
to our own fireside. 

The book is embellished with pictures of the various 
scenes and objects described, in order to make it more 
attractive. 

THE WONDERS OF THE SEA 

Formerly published under the title of 
“The Sea and Its Wonders” 

By MARY and ELIZABETH KIRBY. Crown. 
8 VO. Cloth. Hundreds of illustrations. Price $1.50 

Wonders abound in the Ocean. It is a world in it- 
self, and is subject to its own laws. 

“In this great and wide sea are creeping things in- 
numerable, both small and great.” 

The various chapters are amply illustrated with draw- 
ings taken from life, and on which the utmost care has 
been bestowed. 


Sully and Kleinteich 


New York 



Publications of Sully and Kleinteich 



THE BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 

By CHARLOTTE M. YONGE. With 16 full page colored 
illustrations, 12 full-page illusl/ations in black and white (photo 
engravings) and marginal illustrations all through the book. 

8vo. Cloth. Net $2.50 

TALES OF THE GODS AND HEROES. 

By SIR G. W. COX, M. A. With sixteen colored plates from 
drawings by JAMES FRIPP. 

8vo. Cloth. Net $2.00 

CONTENTS 

The Sorrow of Demeter— The Sleep of Endymion— Niobe and Leto— Orpheus 
and Eurydice— Phryxus and Helle- -Cadmus and Europa— Odysseus and Poly- 
phemus— Odysseus and Circe— Odysseus and the Seirens— Odysseus and Nausicaa 
—The Story of Arion— The Treasures of Rhampsnitus— Cephalos and Procris— 
Daphne— The Delian Apollo— The Pythian Apolli— The Vengeance of Apollo— 

The Tods of Heracles— Althaea and the Burning Brand— Phaethon—lo and Prom- 
etheus— Briareos—Arethusa— Tyro— Poseidon and Athene— Ariadne— Narcissus— 
Medeia—Cyrene--Bellerophon—lphigeneia— Hector and Andromache- -Sarpedon— 
Memnon— Oenone— The Lotos-Eaters— The Cattle of Helios— Odysseus and 
Calypso— Alys and Adrastos. 

LIVES OF GREAT MEN. 

TOLD BY GREAT MEN 

Edited by RICHARD WILSON. With 31 full-page illustrations 
in color. 

Quarto. Cloth. 448 pp. Net $2.00 

CONTENTS 

Alexander the Great— Alfred the Great— The Black Prince— The Story of Wd- 
liam Wallace— Sir Thomas More— Framcisco Pizarro— ^ Richard Grenville-Sir 
Francis Drake— Sir Phillip Sidney—John Hampden— Oliver Cromwell— John Bun- 
yan— Benjamin Franklin’s Boyhood— Dr. Johnson— Oliver Goldsmith— Flora 
Macdonald— The Boyhood of James Watt— Robert Bums— Charles Lamb--Willlam 
Wordsworth— The Boyhood of Turner— George Borrow— The Boyhood of George 
Slcpheiuon. 




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THE STORY OF HEATHER 

By MAY WYNNE 

1 2mo. Cloth. 6 colored illustrations. Price, net $ 1 .00 

This is the autobiography of a pony, simply told for young children, and full of action^ and 
interest. The volume is excellently illustrated in color by Dorothy Pope, smd attractively 
presented in cloth cover. 

EXMOOR STAR 

The Autobiography of a Pony 
By A. E. BONSER 

1 2mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Price, net 50c ; postpaid 55c, 

The sympathy of children in the humane treatment of animals will be enlisted by this 
charming story. They see how cruel our thoughtlessness and lack of attention to the needs 
of our dumb servants often are. They will share the views of this bright little pony in re- 
gard to man’s attitude to animals. The story is feiscinating and as circus performer or polo 
pony. Star is a most interesting character. After many strange experiences he saves the 
fives of twelve people, receives a medal from the Royal Humane Society and retires from 
public life. The story is not marred by a sad ending. The book is fully illustrated. 

A BOOK OF BIRDS AND BEASTS 

OR 

THE LAW OF KINDNESS 

1 34 pages and 32 colored illustrations 

Price, net $1.00 

It is full of interesting stories, ^ about animals and their doings, and of such a character 
that no child who reads them will ever dream of being unkind to bird, beast, fish, or insect ; 
for when people get to know God’s creatures ^d their wonderful ways, they learn how to 
leave them alone and to watch them patiently, just because they are so well worth watching. 

THE OLD FAIRY TALES 

189 pages and 32 colored illustrations 

Price, net $ 1 .00 

A book of Fairy 'Tales for Boys and Girls containing ; The Three Bears— Brother and 
Sister — Little Red Riding-Hood— Hansel and Grethel- The Golden Goose — The Magic 
Key— Little One Eye, Little Two Eyes, and Little Three Eyes -The Story of Catskin — 
Cinderella, or. The Little Glass Slipper— 1 he Frog- Prince —The Sleeping Beauty in the 
Wood— The Iron Stove— Shemus snd the I ittle People— Prince Curly Qun — Queen Mab 
and Oberon— The Merry Tricks of Tom Thumb — Prince Cherry — Little Snowdrop— The 
Goose Girl— The Fairies of the Caldon-Low. 


New York 


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THE 

BOOK OF INDOOR 

AND 

OUTDOOR GAMES 

BY 

MRS. BURTON KINGSLAND 

With suggestions for entertainments. Illus- 
trated. 

l2mo. Cloth. $1.00 

A veritable encyclopaedia of games, pastimes* 
and entertainment. 

CONTENTS 

Games of Thought, Wit and Memory — Pro- 
gressive Games — Card Games — Children’s 
Games — Children’s Singing Games — Games for 
Sunday Evenings — Catches and Riddles — For- 
tune Telling — Mesmerism — Children’s Parties 
— Special Dinners, Dances and Luncheons — 

T ableaux — W edding Anniversaries. 

“Without touching on the side of profit-yield- 
ing occupations, and with more stress laid down 
upon the social side of life, this book will prove 
a real treasure for those lacking in invention, and 
will bring delight to many a dull or rainy day.” 

— The Dial 

Sully and Kleinteich - New York 






The Golden River Series 

Bound in cloth 16mo. With a colored panel 
Illustration on front cover — title stamped in gold 

PRICE EACH - - - - - - 50 Cents 


Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. 8 colored illustrations. 
Anderson’s Fairy Tales. (Ugly Duckling.) 


N 

Water Babies. - - - 

The King of the Golden River. 
Arabian Nights. 

Gulliver in Lilliput 

Don Quixote. - - - 

Stories from Hiawatha. 

Tangle wood Tales. 

John Halifax’s Boyhood 
Tales of a Grandfather. 

David and Emily. 

Nell and Her Grandfather. 
Stories from Spenser. 

Rose and the Ring. - 
Knights of the Grail. 

Sir Thomas Thumb. 

Linden Leaf. - - _ 

Undine. - - - - 

Maggie and Tom Tulliver. 
Children of the Old Testament. 
Children of the New Testament. 
Six Gifts. . _ - 

Kingsley’s Heroes. 

Adventures of Ulysses. 

Golden Deeds. - - - 

Stories from Tennyson. 

Tales from Shakespeare. 

Stories from Chaucer. 

Cox’s Greek Heroes 



4 

colored illustrations, 

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